


Forgotten Heaven

by spangelbanger



Series: World's end [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Sam, Anal Play, Angst, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Gore, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Memory Loss, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Switching, Top Dean, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spangelbanger/pseuds/spangelbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean somehow finds himself in heaven. With the memories of his brother for company and a spirit that keeps crashing the party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean's Heaven

“Dean!” Sam was yelling his name. Dean held onto the dream he was in a little longer, he knew he was dreaming. Sam was gone. Sam was worse than dead. “Come on man, I got coffee, get up.”

Dean dragged himself up and stared at the image in front of him. Dean didn’t remember the hotel room. But god he knew that look, he missed that look. Sam was looking at him and smiling, Dean’s heart threatened to stop.

“Sammy?” He whispered. Sam’s eyes drifted from him, tracking movement’s dean couldn’t remember making. Dean saw a reflection in the mirror behind his brother. At first he thought it was a sheet Red and white, and weirdly rounded. He looked over his shoulder, nothing was there. It didn’t matter. Sam was talking. Dean didn’t even pretend to listen, it didn’t matter, it was a memory, it wasn’t really Sam, but he was smiling, and talking, and interacting with the world and Dean wanted to drink it in. Wanted to relive every moment he ever took for granted.

It didn’t matter, if Dean was reliving his memories, then he had to be in heaven, and if he was in heaven, maybe he could find his brother, if there were ever a place for miracles. This was it wasn’t it? He sipped the coffee that tasted better than coffee ever had, and listened to what Sam was saying, picking up his side of the conversation less from memory and more because he knew what he would say. He did say most of it, close enough for the conversation to almost flow naturally. Except a few times Sam laughed at jokes Dean forgot to make, the mischievous glint in his eyes was a dagger in Dean’s heart. He never realized how much he would miss it until it was gone.

Dean stayed with the memory until he split up with Sam later in the morning.

The split was the first time it happened. The world faded to black, Dean couldn’t breath, he could feel himself, nothing around him, it felt like he was floating, felt like he was torn out of reality itself. He must have finally been caught up to by one of the reapers. Reapers had promised him and Sam the void of non-existence rather than heaven or hell. He hadn’t thought they could invade a person’s heaven, that they delivered them to heaven, not that they could take them out again. If it had found Sam. He couldn’t think that way, Sam was defenseless. If it had gotten Sam, then he’d have no choice, even if it truly killed him he would have to go get whatever was left of his brother back.

Dean heard whispers of sound, indistinguishable like it was coming to through water, and he couldn’t quite make out the words. At first it only added to the panic he was feeling, then the softest touch ran along his arm. A few moments later felt like someone was rubbing along the back of his leg, it didn’t matter how he reacted the touch remained the same until he relaxed into the sensation. Almost as quickly as it came the blackness faded and he found himself in the front seat of his car. Night moves blaring on the radio and Sam singing along next to it. Relaxed and happy and post sexed blissed. Dean found himself falling much more easily into the fresher memory, letting himself drink in the beauty that was his brother, healthy and happy and whole. It was in the rear view mirror that he caught sight of the same thing he’d first seen in the hotel room.

It was humanoid. At least he thought so. Except it really wasn’t.

There was nothing about it that looked like it had ever been human. The eyes that were pointed toward him were a milky white streaked with a light blue so faint it almost looked nonexistent. The lightness of the eyes stood out against the darkness of the face. Not skin, but muscle broken striations gave it an almost fur like appearance. There were spots where bone showed through the muscle. The mouth though, dean had seen some gross chompers in his life, but this didn’t even count. It was like the things jaw was unhinged, the black space between its nose and chin was huge, and gaping. There was nothing inside that space, no teeth, no tongue either. Places the bone of the things jaw was visible, and in one spot dean almost was sure he saw what had been part of its throat, just a piece or two of ripped cartilage hanging on by threads. The throat worked, no sound came out. Sam’s voice was loud and happy, and Dean wanted to look back at him so badly, to pretend that whatever was tagging along wasn’t there. But that wasn’t their job. He reached carefully under the front seat keeping his eyes on the milk white orbs. The shot gun full of rock salt was exactly where he’d hoped it would be. The thing didn’t seem to notice he was doing anything. It’s eyes were turned toward him though, it’s head tilted like an animal that had heard something in the distance and was trying to listen. Dean moved slowly, not liking the way it felt it was looking at Sam. Real or not, nothing was going to mess with Sam, not ever again.

Dean tilted the shotgun between his left arm and the door pointing it up at the creature, not the best angle, but it would work especially for this. “Stay the hell away from him.” Dean growled and pulled the trigger. For a fraction of a moment it jerked back, the salt connecting with something solid. In the next moment, the back seat was empty. Dean laid the shotgun across his lap and turned back to Sam. Sam was looking out the window, the soft smile still on his lips. Dean let the memory of the car drive itself, reached over and traced his thumb over that smile drinking it in.

“Nothing’s gonna get you here,” Dean promised, it didn’t matter that this Sam didn’t hear him either, he was smiling, and when he turned toward Dean, it felt like he was seeing him. There were worse things.

For a while everything was fine. Dean found himself in another black space, floating but less afraid, waiting for the next memory to pick up, he didn’t think heaven would have lag problems, but they were running on a pretty much decimated maintenance crew. The thought made him smile a little. One day when he was done drinking in his memories of his brother he was going to ask Cas about it, but he was more interested in chasing the fleeting memories he had with Sam rather than calling up Cas.

When the darkness faded, Dean found himself standing in a half forgotten trailer, “Sammy?” the word slipped past his lips. It was the first memory that wasn’t his own. He held where he was staring at the wall of post cards. He turned around and saw Sam. Saw his excitement “no way” Dean felt the surge of relief before Sam reached for the dog, “BONES! Come ‘er Come ‘er”

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean asked.

Sam said “Yeah Bones was my dog.” Dean listened to each word “hey” “yeah” “yeah” “hey boy” Dean’s eyes fell to the figure that had taken up residence on the couch next to Sam, it’s head tilted in the quizzical way,

“What are you doing here?!” Dean yelled at it, moving around the table, barely hearing as Sam continued on the script.

“yeah, I mean I was on my own for two weeks I lived off Funions and Mr. Pibb.” “

“God Damn, it what are you? A ghost? A thought form, what the hell are you?” He screamed. What” For a second he thought Sam was talking to him, until he said, “Dean look I’m sorry, I ..I never thought about it like that.”

Dean was about to beat whatever the hell the thing was to a blood pulp, bloodier at least. It was ignoring him, it was twisting Sam’s memories, keeping him out, keeping him from his brother. Dean noticed its fingers were down to bare bones and it was clawing into the muscle above it’s heart, each rough scrap of it’s finger’s tore through layers of tissue that regrew over, it clawed fingers prying and picking, not looking down, head still tilted, Dean was starting to realize it was because the muscles that helped support it’s neck were shredded. The place where it’s vocal cords should have been was a ragged bloody wound. Sightless eyes roved around the room, Dean wondered if it was as blind as it pretended to be. Sam went out the door, the dog laid down on the couch and then faded out of existence. “No!” Dean screamed “I’m not done here.”

It didn’t matter the memory was over, it invariably faded away. The thing was still in front of him though, Dean saw they were in another room, Sam was sitting in a chair, legs spread wide, tears in his eyes. “You’re bossy,” Dean was completely taken off guard by it. Not because he didn’t remember it, but because Sam was so upset why would he be in that memory. Dean ignored him, focused his attention on the creature, “Where’s my brother?!” He yelled again, slamming it against the desk. The thing rattled and landed hard, oh well, it wasn’t like he cared if he disturbed the neighbors.

The fingers were back again digging into its own chest, digging through the muscle like it was trying to claw its way to its own heart. “What the hell are you doing that for?” Dean asked and shoved it away from him, still trying to figure it out. The view from the back was as bad if not worse. The section of ribs behind its heart had been torn away in a jagged chunk, bones were protruding at random angles. Dean wondered if those wounds had punctured the creatures lungs. He couldn’t tell if it even had lungs. But he could see its heart, pulsing in a stead beat in the hollow cavern of its chest. A small black symbol covered part of it. It looked like it was tattooed or branded into the pumping muscle leaving a line of scar tissue behind, but it was smooth not gnarled or twisted.. Dean pulled a knife out of his pocket and aimed it at the mark.

The blade sunk in without resistance and dean felt the creature fall still in his grip before falling to the floor, dean pulled the blade out, watched the white tendrils drift out of the wound. He had already seen it was capable of healing, but there weren’t very many things that could survive a silver blade to the heart, it didn’t matter what of monster it was. The white lines spread out pooling around the body like blood before it and the blood faded away, swallowed by Dean’s ever shifting heaven. One thing he knew for sure something was chasing him. He wasn’t sure what the exact mark meant, but it looked like some of the symbols he’d seen carved into his baby. He’d put his money on it being enochian. Which at least gave him some idea who to ask.

Dean wasn’t really the praying type anymore, not even in heaven, but for some reason he had the sneaking suspicion his cell phone wouldn’t work here. He closed his eyes and said, “Cas buddy, something weird is going on, you think you could swing by?” He didn’t have to open them to know it had worked.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice came out a relieved whisper. “I was worried about you,”

“Well you should be. I mean technically I am dead.” He shrugged, “I need to talk to you, but not here, I think something is watching me.”

“Well that would make sense, given your history.”

“Seriously Cas, not the time? Somewhere safe?” Dean whispered his voice coming out a harsh growl.

“Of course,” Cas said smiling slightly. The roadhouse was exactly the way he remembered it. Complete with the drunk redneck super genius passed out on the pool table. “Huh, it looks pretty authentic.” Dean muttered, He slid onto one of the bar stools and waited for the angel to join him, “There’s something following me.” He said.

“Angel?”

“That doesn’t look like any angel I’ve ever seen.” Dean muttered, “It’s…skinless, for one.” He shuddered, “um, It looks kind of human, like…if someone had never seen a human but was given a bunch of random parts, that’s what they’d make.”

“Possibly a flesh golem,” cas said, “how big?”

“Big, I mean, like if this were a person, he’d be huge, bigger than both of us.” He said, “not like both of us together, but like individually.” He grabbed a napkin, “I think I got it, but there may be more, or it might regenerate. I don’t know, it had a mark on it’s heart.”

“It’s heart?” Cas asked, “how could you tell.”

“Turns out ribs weren’t included in the package. I got behind it, I saw the thing. Its where I put my knife.” Dean drew what he remembered of the symbol.

“Dean, are you sure that’s what you saw?” Cas said looking at it and twisting the napkin in circles examining it from every different angle.

“Dude, like I said, it’s where I aimed my knife, I know what I saw. Its enochian right? Like angel chatter?”

“Yes,” Cas said, sounding thoughtful.

“So does this chatter have a meaning, or are you just going to let me figure it out?” Dean demanded.

“I’m thinking,” Cas said, “Tell me more about what you saw.”

“I don’t know what you want to hear, I was looking for Sam, I ended up in one of Sam’s memories, but it was different, this thing was there, and Sam was weird, and it was like clawing in it’s chest, I mean it’s got some gross, fingernails going on. I don’t know.

“And that’s the first time you saw it? In one of Sam’s memories?” Cas asked like he wasn’t sure he believed Dean knew what he was talking about.

“No, I mean I saw it before, out of the corner of my eye a few times, and once in the car. But I shot it full of rock salt and that put it off its game for a little while.” Anyways the memory shifted from one of Sam’s to one of mine, and I kind of rode it out of Sam’s memory. Threw it against the table, saw what it was doing to its chest, then I might have gotten a little rough after that, that’s when I saw the heart thing.”

Dean rolled his shoulder’s trying to ease the ache that was in them. “It’s funny; I keep thinking that if Sam were here, he’d already know what the hell it is we’re dealing with. I mean I knew better than to hope. But this, this is almost worse, because it’s like I’m the one haunting him. It’s like he’s right there, and he’s talking to me, but he can’t hear me when I talk back.” Dean went and got a beer and came back to the table, “and also weird, there are like, blank spaces between memories.”

“Blank how?”

“Just black,” Dean said, “sometimes I could, like hear things, not a lot, just some noises, or feel like people touching me.’

He saw the questioning look on his friends face and shook his head at the implied question, “No, not like bad touches, just…touches, I mean at first it kind of freaked me out, but it didn’t feel like a threat, I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Cas picked at the label on the beer Dean had handed him and Dean caught himself marveling at how human that little thing was, how much Cas had changed. “So,” He grinned a little, “for some reason I never thought there’d be hunting in heaven. Its always just one more job right?”

Cas smiled, “one more job,” the words came out wistful. “You said you caught up with it in one of Sam’s memories? Show me.”

Dean wasn’t exactly sure how that world work but when Cas reached his hand to touch his forehead dean let him, his eyes closing for a minute. And when they opened they were back in the trailer, back staring at the walls.

It was weird. Sam went through the motions again, petting his dog and ignoring it when Dean walked around the table, “Hold on.” Cas said, and Sam stopped in the middle of talking.

“Woah, I have never seen him do that before.” Dean said, looking back at his brother, smiling up at him, his hands paused stroking down the golden fur.

“Okay, show me.”

“There’s not really anything to see here, I mean Sam was doing that, and this thing was just there,” Dean pointed at the couch next to him. I yelled at it, it didn’t answer, I went to make it answer and we ended up in some in up in Connecticut.”

“I thought you said this was one of Sam’s memories.” Cas whispered, walking over and kneeling down to look at the dog. He ran a hand over it’s fur next to where Sam was touching it.

“Hello, this is flagstaff. This was the night Sam ran away when we were kids.”

“No it isn’t.” Cas said, his voice coming out tired and gruff.

“Yeah, Cas, me and Sam had this whole conversation the time we were here trying to get to the stupid garden thing.”

“Do you see Sam here?” Cas asked gesturing around the room? These moments are fueled by the memories of the people in them. If the person isn’t here, the moment’s don’t exist. This is your memory from the time when you were in heaven with your brother.”

“Are you kidding me? I hated this place?” Dean said, “why the hell would it be in my heaven?”

Cas looked up not at Dean but at Sam, “You were looking for Sam?”

“I’m always looking for Sam,”

“This is the place you were talking about isn’t it? The trailer with the dog, where you thought he’d be happy.”

“well clearly I thought this memory was better than it was.” Dean said, “I mean it was part of Sam’s heaven for fucks sake, one of his greatest hits, he should have been happy in it.”

“Dean, this moment exists because you wanted it to, because you thought you’d find your brother here.” Cas said, a sympathetic sadness on his face, “without you here, this moment doesn’t exist. Sam doesn’t have this memory anymore. Sam doesn’t have any memories anymore.”

“What the hell are you trying to say to me?” Dean asked fighting the urge to start swinging. Cas was his friend, and whatever he thought he meant probably wasn’t what was coming out. He looked not at Cas but at his brother, “Why can’t I find him?”

“Dean, Sam’s not here. There’s not enough of Sam left to fuel a heaven, not even his own. You think heaven is your greatest hits list?”

“Something like that.” Dean said.

“okay, think of these memories like tracks on your cassette tapes. You go back and replay your favorites.” He looked up, his eyes pained in a way Dean had never seen them, “Sam’s tapes all were hit with magnets. There are no memories for heaven to build from. I did what you asked. I brought what was left of Sam’s soul here, not to this memory. I couldn’t get it without you, but to this shared space, he’s here, but at the same time he’s not able to interact with this type of heaven. For Sam it’s not memories but…disjointed, abstract concepts, impressions rather than thoughts. If your heaven is a movie where you can play the best parts, Sam’s would be the emotion of the moment, except he doesn’t even have those.. I can’t explain this to you in a way you’ll understand. Where Sam’s memories should be you’ll know. There will be pockets that exist outside your personal heaven. Places they are supposed to overlap. If you find yourself there, just think of where you’d rather be. Given enough time, you’ll get to where you can pretty much navigate around those blank spots without knowing they were even there.”

“Is he happy?” Dean asked wiping at his eyes again, “look man, that’s all I care about I don’t care if I never see him again, just you gotta tell me, he’s happy, tell me that it was better this way.” He laughed bitterly looking at his memory of his brother, “you have to tell me that he’s in a better place.”

“He’s not hurting anymore,” Cas said gently, reaching up to brush his hand through Sam’s hair, “nothing is after him, he doesn’t know what happened to him, doesn’t know who he is, or what he was.”

“He doesn’t remember me.” Dean said, the words were ice in his heart. Sam had forgotten him. “He doesn’t have anything to remember.” Cas said softly standing up and looking at the wall of post cards, Dean pretended not to notice when he wiped at his own eyes, Cas looked over the post cards, “You and Sam, you know you were soulmates?”

“I’ve had my suspicions.” Dean said softly, “I mean it’s not like I want to jump the guys bones, because ew, but there’s no one else on the planet I care about the way I care about Sam.” Sam who had been through so much in his too short life, had finally been through too much. And Dean wasn’t able to stop how bad it hurt knowing Sam as he had been only existed in Dean’s memories.

“You ever get the feeling something about one of your memories is off? Have you felt like the air’s the wrong temperature, or maybe you feel sad when you should be happy, or a smell that just doesn’t match the memory?”

Dean shook his head, “I don’t know man, I haven’t been paying that much attention. Dean felt the nag of suspicion, those questions rang a little too familiar for him to ignore. Still he let cas ask what he wanted.

“Ever get the feeling of actual peace? When you’re in these memories?”

“Once,” Dean said honestly, “right after I got here, we were in the car, it was just a stupid moment, but Sam was smiling and singing along to the radio, and it was before I saw the thing in the back seat so I was just enjoying the memory. For a minute I was happy.”

“If Sam is your soulmate, then he was there.” Cas said gently, “Maybe not physically, maybe not as anything more than a little extra light on the surface of the memory, but if you were at peace in that moment, then Sam couldn’t have been far away. As mangled as his soul is, yours is still reaching out for him. Learn to listen to it, learn to follow it, and you’ll know when he’s close.”

“But if I can’t see him how am I supposed to do that?” Dean wanted to start swinging at something, wanted to go take a chunk out of something. “How am I supposed to fix this?”

“I’d say invite him in. Don’t over think it. If Sam’s soul is seeking yours also, if that connection is still there, then you need to be at peace with your own heaven, you need to make it so he can stay close to you, without interacting. Sam doesn’t know you Dean. All he knows is impressions. If you are angry at him, sad, or scared, or feeling lost those are all negative, those will drive him away. There’s no logic to this. If Sam feels threatened, even if he doesn’t understand what the feeling is, he will retreat. Only when you’re at peace can he come to you.”

“I can’t just suddenly become some feel good hippy in hopes that maybe my brother’s special snowflake of a spirit might decide to drop by.”

Cas nodded, walked up to Dean and reached for his hand, squeezing it with a look of miserable sympathy. He looked down at Sam and the dog, “If you can’t, then I understand.” He Hugged him, and dean let himself fall into the comfort of the embrace, let the tears he’d been fighting back over whelm him. He had been prepared for hell, prepared for an eternity to pay for what he had done. He’d been prepared for Sam to hate him for the rest of time, and he’d be content with that, because in the back of his mind he knew that Sam would be okay. Sam would wake up in their shared heaven, and be okay again, be whole and happy and Sam, running through memories of the dog he had for two weeks, or the girls he had for two hours. Or, knowing Sam, an eternity spent rereading books he enjoyed, because Sam was a fucking nerd like that. The reality, that Sam was lost not only on earth, but in heaven also and that his hellish year was for nothing made him sick to his stomach.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t live without him.” Dean whispered.

“You’re going to have to.” Cas answered, “I’m sorry Dean, I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

“Me too,” Dean whispered sinking down onto the couch, he had his face in his hands when

“I’ll see what I can do about the creature in your heaven, there’s a couple things it maybe. Of course it might be something you created, something from your own imagination, It wouldn’t be the first time a hunter created a monster so they’d have something to chase.” Cas said softly, “I’m going to go, call me if you need me, or if it shows up again.” When Cas left the memory picked up where it left off. Sam was again petting his dog. Dean stayed in that one for a while letting that moment replay over and over. Sam was gone. Truly and forever gone, Dean was overwhelmed by the knowledge he’d be alone in his memories of them for the rest of his life.

Dean wanted to crawl in bed and never get out, wanted to die all over again, was half envious because Sam wouldn’t ever have to feel anything again, and even though he was in heaven, Dean would never be able to feel anything but the loss of his brother.. Dean closed his eyes, let himself sink into the darkness in his own mind, if he could sleep in heaven that’s what he wanted to do. Sleep until it didn’t feel like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

When Dean’s eyes opened again, he felt a spark of white hot pain in his back. He flinched and twisted his fingers trailing over the unbroken skin. He was having a nightmare. It was almost enough to make him laugh, that he was so screwed up he couldn’t even have good dreams in heaven.

Blackness pressed around him on all sides, but it was what he wanted, wanted for at least a little while to sink into the grey space between his memories. The spaces he now knew were supposed to be Sam’s. Dean could hear the whispers, knew now they were remnants the broken fractures of Sam’s memories. He strained to listen, to see which moments Sam’s shattered psyche had held the ghost impressions of.

Dean couldn’t make out the sounds, he felt the soft touch of a hand against his cheek and reached up to grab it. There was nothing but air, nothing he could touch. The moment ended and Dean found himself in the garage at Bobby’s baby taped up and waiting for him to paint it. God he’d loved painting her, admittedly he’d just been reapplying her normal paint job, but it made him happy and proud. He let himself get lost in the work. He wondered where Sam had been while he’d been working, probably in the house. He fought the urge to go see. He didn’t know where the edges of this memory were yet, and he didn’t want to step outside it, not yet, not until he saw how it played out.

There was a thump against the door and he looked up in time to see Sam, coming in smiling, Dean’s heart contracted painfully and he took the beer, “Thanks Sammy” he whispered, popping the cap off on the work bench and tipping it up. The beer was better than the coffee. The perfect temperature, ice cold and rolling down his throat like a caress. Sam was talking, Sam was always talking, it didn’t matter what he was saying, Dean just let the sound of his voice wash over him. Let himself forget for just a moment that he’d never get this again. These moments with Sam long past, were all that was left of his brother. Dean was so sick of feeling like he was going to cry. So sick of having each time he hit a new memory, it hurt, physically and deeply and completely. He was going to end up losing his mind.

Dean finished the beer, and sat it down. “I’ll see you later little brother,” he whispered, he needed to get out of these memories, and these moments, needed to get away from Sam, and memories of Sam so he could find somewhere he could think.

On the other side of the garage door was one of the barbecues he’d had at Lisa’s. He flipped a perfectly cooked steak and went to find Lisa. “Hey,” She said, and while it was also just a memory at least this one didn’t hurt. He let himself smile, “food ready?” She asked gently and he kissed her. Only half because that’s what he had done the first time around, “Almost.” He whispered, then picked her up and sat her on the counter, slotting himself between her legs.

They were interrupted when the door slid open. “Oh, god Sorry,” one of the guys Dean had hung out with whispered. Lisa burst out into embarrassed laughter. At the time Dean laughed with her, now he just let himself listen to her joy, let himself remember what it felt like to be in love with her. He’d spent a year without Sam, pretending every day he didn’t feel like dying. Now, he felt the same, only he couldn’t lose himself in Lisa, couldn’t pretend to be Ben’s dad. Couldn’t make plans and get through the days. Time wasn’t linear in heaven.

“I have to go,” he whispered, stepping through the front door, and back into bobby’s salvage yard, the paint on the sign had been newer then. He found himself looking up at Sam standing on top of a tin shed, Sam backed up, and Dean remembered this, remembered how happy he’d been in the moment, the hard metallic thump of Sam’s feet running across the tin had his heart jumping. And then Sam was jumping out over empty space. Dean ran to catch him, he wasn’t fast enough, at the time he hadn’t even tried. For a moment Sam had been flying until he was falling. Dean heard the crack, knew the sound of his brother’s arm breaking. Dean was there, wrapping his brother in his arms, and god he’d been so small then. Dean hadn’t been much bigger, but He could feel the bones beneath his skin, he was all elbows and knees and not much else, but god even then he’d been so smart, had been a genius, despite not being able to stay in one place for more than a few weeks at a time, Sam learned quickly, learned easy. The rate he processed information was fucking astonishing, even then. Things Dean would have to consider Sam could come up with an answer quickly and it was almost always the right one. Dean’s tears were soaking into his brother’s hair, and he heard Sam apologizing, the rest of that memory Dean didn’t need to relive, but he held onto that memory of Sam, silhouetted against the pale blue South Dakota sky. Thinking he was flying, when he’d been falling from the moment his feet left the tin roof.

The next place Dean found himself was the bunker, sitting in his spot looking at his brother reading, Sam hadn’t been paying attention to Dean, too caught up in whatever he was researching, and now Dean was glad for it, glad he could sit and enjoy the silence. Glad he could watch Sam working without pretending to carry on a conversation. He’d been beautiful. Dean cringed from the thought, but there was no one there to hear it, no one to share it with, no one to condemn him for thinking it, except for himself, and he was so tired from hurting, that he let himself drink it in. How truly, ethereal his brother looked in the moment. Maybe it was the way the lights in the place all seemed to be focused on him, the rest of the bunker falling into dark shadows, maybe it was the half smile as he read, or the way his hair fell over his eyes until he pushed it out of the way. He looked up, and Dean’s breath caught. For the first time in a long time it felt like Sam was actually looking at him. It pinned him in place, he waited for Sam to say something to him, something to tell him he really saw him this time. Instead he turned back to the book, and for a moment, just a fraction of time Dean let himself buy the lie.

Behind Sam Dean saw it, the thing that he knew he had killed. It was standing, silent and deathly still. Dean sent out the call to Cas, but before the angel could get there it had vanished, just as quickly as it had come.

“Damn it Sammy, I could really use your help with this one,” He said, “ I have no idea what that thing is, or how it even got here, where do I even start.”

He saw the book that Sam was reading and felt like a fucking idiot. He was in the bunker, literally everything he could find to research it was right there, and it gave him an excuse to stay in the memory a little longer, to watch Sam read out of the corner of his eye while he tried to figure it out.

Dean pulled a book off the shelf, and flipped it open. It was covered in words, but Dean had no idea what the language was. He pulled down another book, this one was completely blank. He shoved it back in the self in frustration.

The next book he pulled down was also blank. He threw it on the floor. Why the hell hadn’t Sam mentioned half the damn books they had were completely empty. And the few that had writing in them it was completely illegible.

Another empty book hit the floor at the same time “What are you doing?” Cas asked from behind him. Dean jumped, “Jesus Cas, warn a guy.” He muttered, “What in the hell kind of library is full of blank books.”

Cas picked up the books off the floor and put them on top of the shelf. “This isn’t a library Dean, it’s a memory.”

“So, there’s books here.” Dean said indignantly.

“You’ll only be able to read the books, you have read.” Cas said, “if you never knew what was in them, you can’t remember it.” Dean wanted to hit him. He controlled the urge.

Instead he knocked the books back off the shelf, “fine, it’s not really a library, don’t bother cleaning it up.” He muttered, “It will just be back where it’s supposed to next time I drop in to visit. No cleaning required.

“I’ve upset you,”

“Ya think?” Dean asked, “it was here.” He said, “I saw it, and I called you and it was gone before you got here, do you think that might piss me off just a little.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, ‘I came as soon as I could.”

“I know you did.” Dean said, “so, since apparently I can’t actually do any research here, and geek boy isn’t going to be any help, you got any news on what I’m dealing with?”

“I’m still working on it.” Cas said, “would you like to get out of here?” He asked, “come get a drink with me?”

“God yes.” Dean said.

In an instant Dean found himself back at Harvelle’s only it was more crowded then the last time he’d been there.

“Whose memory is this?” Dean asked seeing who all was there.

“No ones. this isn’t a memory.” Cas said, “It’s a hunting party.”

Dean looked around the room, “Cas, this is ridiculous you can’t go pulling people out of their heaven’s to deal with my problem.”

“Your problem’s always come first.” Cas said with a small smirk of his own.

A hand smacked the back of his head, “Hey old man,”

Dean almost knocked the stool over standing up and throwing his arms around Jo. He whispered her name, “I’m so sorry,”

“You should be.” She looked him over, “You got old.” She said teasing, and his heart hurt, she had died too young and it showed. “Hey, don’t look like that, I’m just teasing.”

“So it’s true what they’re saying about Sam?”

Dean looked at Cas, “Depends on what they’re saying.”

She stepped back like she realized she should have kept her mouth shut a minute too late, “oh god,” she whispered, “so it is true, Dean I’m so sorry.”

Dean cleared his throat, “Don’t.” He walked past her, “so what are we hunting.”

“We were kind of hoping that you could tell us.” Bobby said, “near as we can figure what you’re describing isn’t like anything we’ve ever seen before. I mean I’ve heard of ghosts carrying the marks of their passing, but this is above and beyond, and how for it to have found its way into a person’s heaven. I mean it sounds like it’s not being bound by dimensional travel.”

“We’ve been searching through other heavens, seeing if anyone has seen anything similar, but most people don’t really like stranger’s popping in on them.” Ash said, “We were thinking of a general summoning, but without knowing what we’re dealing with that could cause some serious problems if it has the ability to alter the dimensions it interacts with.”

Dean went through his recount again, feeling the surge of pride that these people had come together to help him, to figure out what had followed him and why, the more he talked the easier he fell back into his roll. This was a hunt, and it was his hunt, despite the seasoned hunters in the bar, they were all looking to him for what their next move should be. He started pacing while he talked, something caught his eyes, and he stopped looking at the place where the shadows behind the bar seemed thickest, he swallowed, his voice loosing it’s surety, “Also, um, the arm is broken, I never noticed that before, like the bone is sticking out at a weird angle. He breathed in deep, “it’s stomach is shredded, down from about the bottom of the rib cage, down to it’s legs. It kind of looks like a shark took a bite out of it.” He watched the fingers come up and start again digging into the place over it’s chest, pushing past the frayed muscle. Dean realized with some growing horror the sound that he heard was the bones in it’s fingers scrapping against one of it’s ribs.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, “What are you seeing?” Dean pointed, and Cas turned that direction. The look on his face twisting, to something dark and unreadable.

“Why does it keep doing that?” He asked Cas, “every time I see it, it starts scratching at itself like that.

“Dean, you’re going to have to tell me what you’re seeing, because we’re not seeing the same thing.”

“I told you what I’m seeing, what are you seeing?”

“light,” Cas said simply, “faint, and flickering out, but there’s something there.”

“Bobby,” Dean asked, “what do you see?” He was scared to hear the answer, but he had to know. Had to know if they were all seeing something different.

“Where?” the older hunter asked,

“Right behind the bar,” Dean said.

There was a moment’s hesitation, “I’m not sure I’m actually seeing anything,” Bobby said, “There’s a haze there, like a heat mirage, that’s about it.”

“So it’s just me?” Dean whispered, he moved forward slowly, his eyes caught again by the milk white stare. Dean walked around the form, it didn’t move. He saw the place where it’s neck had been ripped jagged, and realized not only was the vocal chords missing, there was a severed white rope protruding at an awkward angle from between two of the cracked vertebra. “No,” Dean whispered.

He reached carefully up to the spot and almost touched the ripped nerve before shying away, “What’s keeping you on your feet?” He asked softly. There wasn’t an answer, but it turned, tracking him, maybe not by sight, but even when he stopped talking the sightless eyes tracked his movement. He pulled the knife out of his boot, and closed his eyes. He took a breath and tried to calm his fear. The fingers were working into the space between the ribs. If there had been meat on them, they would have been too wide to fit. As it was though, the bones scraped roughly against each other. Dean circled around it, seeing the place where his knife had gone into its heart a jagged round puncture, just below the Enochian mark. It was scarred but in one piece.

Dean flipped the knife. Snapping it open when he caught it. “Shh,” he whispered, though why he didn’t know he could see that at least one of its ears was completely gone, a bloody hole where it had been. The other, was scarred over, the form almost completely lost among the scar tissue. If it could hear at all it wouldn’t be much.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, “you’re telling me this thing use to be human?” Dean asked, and even through the gore and horror of its appearance he could kind of see how it might have been. Cas nodded, Dean pulled the hand away, and as soon as he got out of here was going to take a shower in bleach. It didn’t feel wet or bloody the way he expected just rough. He saw a glimmer of something metallic in the faint light. “Alright, this might hurt,” he said and grinned. Like a knife wound would even register at this point. He pushed the blade into the remaining muscle and pried it apart, cutting away the tissue until he could see a coil of black wound between the layers. “alright,” Dean whispered pulling it out with the flat of his blade until he could get a grip on the leather. “let’s see what you've got on your chest.” He smirked and tried not to cringe back as he worked the thing lose, it was a painful process, one that was met with complete silence. It swung free and he caught it in his free hand, the metal burned his hand and he flinched letting go of it. It took his brain way too long to catch up to what he was seeing. Way too long for the pieces to click. He collapsed onto the floor, “Dean,” Cas yelled his name and was by his side in an instant pulling Dean away putting himself between Dean and it.

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean said, numbly, he was probably going into shock. The feeling was gone from his face, there was a black circle around the edges of his vision and it was threatening to swallow him. Hands caught him, and held him up, “I gotcha son,” Bobby said, Dean looked from him back to where it had been, nothing but empty air. The black cord was still wrapped around Dean’s palm though, heavy and tangible and too real. “Bobby,” Dean whispered, holding his hand up.

“What?” Bobby asked looking at the swinging talisman.

“It’s mine.” Dean said. And the darkness that threatened to swallow him finally did.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn’t want to open his eyes, just wanted to pretend to still be somewhere outside consciousness. He could smell the faint motor oil smell of Bobby’s place. Could hear a fan on low somewhere, the summer warm air, did nothing to encourage him to open his eyes. As long as he didn’t move from the couch, and didn’t open his eyes, he could let whatever memory was playing just roll without him. He didn’t want to risk seeing the nightmare his life had become. Didn’t want to see another bitter sweet memory with Sam in it, didn’t want to hit another black patch and know that maybe things weren’t as abstract for his brother as Cas had promised. Dean didn’t know which way was worse. What he had believed or what he knew must be the truth.

Dean could hear his brother talking, could hear the soft familiar cadence of his voice and let himself get lost in the sound. In the memory of what his brother had been before fate, and cruelty had destroyed him.

Dean felt the touch before he knew it was coming, if he’d just opened his damn eyes he could have avoided it. Instead he lay in silence, letting the cold fingertips roam over his arm, felt the scrap of dry bones against his wrist. Felt the too cold, too thin digits slip between his own. He didn’t bother to hold back the pain that coiled deep in his chest, Remembered what Cas had said, Dean could scare him away, knew when Dean had been mad at him, or scared of him, or anything he’d always disappeared pretty quickly. Instead of fading away the hesitant touch became stronger, the squeeze was a little firmer. Dean couldn’t bring himself to look, couldn’t bring himself to see it not again, not know that he knew.

Part of his mind screamed, hell would have been kinder to him. Rather than forcing him to share a heaven with the mutilated, remains of his brother, the one Cas swore couldn’t remember him. Who had no memories, but still sought out Dean even when Dean had tried to kill him. Dean had been the one to send him here. Dean jerked his hand away when the feeling of his brother’s bones against his skin had his skin crawling. Even knowing it was too much.

“Get out of here,” he whispered, a desperate pleading, his eyes still squeezed closed. Sam couldn’t hear him. He knew it, but god he couldn’t bring himself to say it louder. He couldn’t get any volume to the words. He felt the double rasp of his brother’s hand patting against his chest.

Dean didn’t open his eyes until he knew he was gone, could feel the absence like an ache. He saw only his brother throwing popcorn in the air and catching it in his mouth. He remembered wishing a thousand times he just had some way of getting Sam to do something, to let him know he was still there.

Dean walked over to him and reached out just enough to touch the soft hair curling up at the bottom. “Sammy,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.” The silence that answered him was deafening.

If there was one good thing about Dean’s heaven it had to be the fact every major highway in America seemed to run through it. He picked a spot and walked from Bobby’s front door through the door of a convenience store somewhere off I-90. The second good thing, Baby didn’t need gas in heaven. He started it with a thought and ended up back on a familiar stretch of highway. He didn’t look away from the road, let the familiar songs was over him. If it wasn’t just for the nagging terror at the idea of looking to the passenger side, then he could almost go back in time. The wheels clicking across each section of the interstate. The sunset sending blinding sparks of light through the windshield. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t see the road, he trusted her to stay between the lines. He felt a soft touch against his side made him flinch a little, he still didn’t look. Let his hand slide across the seat, and pretended for just a moment the touch as normal, that it wasn’t the hesitant exploration of a mind devoid of self.

Dean didn’t know how right Cas had been, how much had actually been lost, he didn’t want to know, just wanted to pretend they were okay, that his eternity wasn’t going to be spent averting his eyes from the blood stained, flayed bare corpse of his brother. What did it say about him that for a little longer he was willing to ignore it. To let knowing that Sam was there with him, the alien touch proof enough, be okay for a little while.

He felt the weight of the necklace back around his neck, felt the pull to find a way to fix it. To find a way to put back the missing pieces, he’d figure it out, as soon as he got use to it, as soon as he figured out how to fix it.

Dean wasn’t surprised when his brother drifted out of existence a few hours later, it was weird to think he seemed tired. But Dean had never had to look at his brother to know when the trip had gotten too long for him.

Dean kept going, sunsets and sunrises blurred together, it felt like he’d been on the road for a lifetime. He didn’t know how long it’d actually been. He pulled over, walked through the first open door he saw and ended up in another motel room, this one had a mirror over the bed and magic fingers. Dean had the sudden notion running out of quarters would never be a problem again.

He fell back onto the bed. Sleep would be good. Sleep would make it easier for him to figure out what to do, what he should do about Sam.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d been sleeping, if that was even an accurate word for it, he was resting though, not chasing his way through his memories, but relaxed, separate from the world around him.

When he woke up, for a second he thought he was back in one of those weird blank places where the memories were lost.

Then he noticed he could feel the vibration from baby’s engine against his back and legs, could feel something soft against his palm, someone holding his hand thumb stroking softly across the knuckles there. There was a sound, so faint it was almost impossible to make out. Dean recognized it though, the hard bass thump of a drum beat, that was as much felt as heard, only a little of the music came through, just enough that Dean could kind of figure it out. He found himself singing along, The words became clearer, and he found himself grinning, no longer afraid, feeling safe and content. It was easy to be happy, baby was purring, the radio was blaring, and the soft touch was still there, Dean could feel the familiar comfort that he associated with his brother.

The memory didn’t last long, minutes maybe, before Dean found himself watching a much younger Sam climbing on the roof of the car. There were things Dean needed to figure out. He had wondered how much Sam was remembering, if the few brief moments were the extent of his memories it made sense, Cas said there wasn’t enough of him to maintain his own heaven. That he didn’t have any memories to build off of.

Dean so far hadn’t seen anything that suggested his brother remembered their lives, but he was remembering things now. He was building small moments of his own. That Dean recognized from the other side. The music, and the car, and the touch, that had been Dean’s memories, had been Sam’s brief interactions with them.

Dean was still wondering what that meant when he saw the reflection of his brother standing behind him. Dean fought against his initial revulsion. Despite how he looked, locked inside, and underneath that was Sam, and he was more with Dean than he’d been during the hellish year before.

Dean walked to his brother, again assessing the damage, the spot over his heart had actually healed over. Well enough that dean could see some of the muscle there actually looked healthier than the other side. The fibers didn’t look ripped or frayed, just smooth and unbroken. Considering Dean had sliced through it with his knife it was actually pretty damn surprising.

Dean reached for his hand. It wasn’t as bad, he was getting use to the feeling, and knowing how much it had meant to Sam to feel that small connection point had been enough. It was really the only part of his brother Dean was comfortable with touching. But he wasn’t going to admit to it, not even in the safety of his own thoughts. He watched the version of his brother, who was still too little to know there were dangers in the world. He felt a surge of adoration for the too small child who had always been able to melt Dean’s defenses with a single look. If he could have saved him from all the things to come he would have. “I’ll find a way to fix this.” He promised quietly. “find a way to make it up to you.”

Dean’s third visit to the road house was a little harder to arrange, what he really wanted was a meeting face to face with Ash. But he didn’t want to risk Sam following him out there, not again. He waited until the last time Sam faded from his side, before calling for cas and hoped their friend could get him back before Sam missed him, before he ha d the strength or energy to go looking for him.

Ash poured them both a beer, “Okay, spill,” he said.

“I need you to tell me how you manipulate heaven.”

“Wow, okay you’re going to need something a little more specific then that, what are you trying to do?” Ash asked, watching Dean a little closer than he liked.

“I need to know about how heaven and souls work together. How memories are made. I mean I thought it was just static. What happened out there, was what you brought here, but I think memories can be made here. I need to know how to design what happens, and I need to know if a soul itself can be changed.”

“Changed?” Ash asked, and Dean realized he was talking to someone too smart to be lied to. He still didn’t want to tell him what he was thinking. Instead he said, “suppose, I decided that since this is my heaven, I’d like for my eyes to be a different color, like blue for instance, Could that be done.”

“you want to change the color of your eyes?”

“No, man it was an example, could something like that be done?”

“well, yeah, kind of.” He shrugged, “It’s more complicated than that. But basically you’d have to not change your eye color, but convince yourself that your eyes had always been blue. You’d have to change not just your perception, but your entire belief about it.” He swallowed some of the beer, “like you could convince yourself for a little while that your eyes are blue, but as soon as your residual self-image comes back through they’d go back to their natural color. If on the other hand you convinced yourself your eyes were naturally blue and the color you saw them as was an illusion, or a trick of the light, or whatever, then you could learn to really, truly believe that your eyes were a different color. When you believe it, they’d stick.”

“What about actually seeing things?” Dean asked, “like suppose you were going to go into a blind person’s heaven, their primary sense isn’t their eyes anymore. So like sounds and touch would be stronger. I mean I’m just saying that if a blind person’s memories include the sense of touch, and not sight, and someone who is in those memories get the sensations and not the visuals, would it be possible to do the opposite, to let someone who couldn’t see, do it.”

“Yeah, but blindness is a genetic trait, or an accident, those kinds of things are healed in heaven. I mean it’s practically part of the deal.”

“Not always.” Dean said, then couldn’t meet his face, he knew ash would connect the dots, he just didn’t know how he’d react when he did.

“Okay, so are you still wandering?” Ash asked completely changing the subject on him.

“What?”

“Through the memories, have you picked where you want to settle or are you still looking for your favorites?” Ash grabbed a beer and twisted the top off of it, leaning across the counter, while he waited for Dean's answer.

“I’ve been driving.” Dean said, “Just hitting whatever comes whenever. I’ve kind of figured out how to end up in the memories I want, and sometimes how to blend them together so I can make the trip straight through even if I’m not clear on all the details of the roads.”

“Good, that will make this easier. The memories are the stage setting. What you need to do is find your own personal center point, the place in the middle of your heaven where things can change. It’s the place where books you’ve never read will have words, where you can watch movies you’ve never seen, where basically new memories are easier to make, it’s the point that everything else is centered around.” For me it’s the road house, for you it might be somewhere you lived, some place you visited and really liked, or if you can’t find it, you can build it. It’s just a little more time consuming that way, when you have the place, you can bring things back to it, you can travel out and back in, and when you have it, you can always get back to it. It won’t reset with each visit the way the memories do.”

“Okay,” Dean said, “look, I don’t have a lot of time, but I might have some more questions, how can I get back here?”

“Call me.” Ash said, “I told you I’ve got my set up hardwired to the angels you can call me the same way you call Cas.”

Dean walked back through the door, found himself in the bunker, he relaxed onto his bed. Dean felt more than saw when Sam joined him. He was quiet. Dean wasn’t sure if his plan would work. But he had to try something. He had seen even this shattered version of Sam heal itself, the shot gun wound, the knife in his heart, the cut on his chest. It was possible if the damage was small enough. Dean knew better than to hope but the smooth tissue over Sam’s heart gave him more courage then he wanted to admit.

When he found himself back at the memory of Sam reading in the library Dean focused on memorizing everything he could about his brother. He had an idea, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good one or not, but the worst that could happen would be things continued the way they were going.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean found it weird, the way he watched Sam, while the other version held onto the edges of his peripherial drawn close, but waiting for Dean to either move toward him, or give him a sign to come closer. Dean had spent as much time thinking about it as he could. He took his brother’s hand, and in a blink they were in what had been an infirmary. Dean could see the way his head turned searching for some sound, some smell or clue. Dean squeezed his hand and guided him to the table, he dragged his brother’s hand against the cracked leather and willed him to understand. While Dean could physically move him, he really didn’t want to. Sam got the message, dean held his breath and started slow going over his brother’s body and cataloging the damage done. It was too much, there was no way anyone could have survived whatever had been done. But then, he guessed it wasn’t the damage to his brother’s body he was looking at. It was more than that. Dean didn’t know where to start, but he could feel the agitation from his brother, the fear creeping in.

“Shh, Sammy, I’ve got you,” Dean whispered. “Okay, gonna start out small,” Dean took his brother’s hand urged it palm up and closed his eyes. Let his fingertips trail over his brother’s finger’s, over the pad of his thumb, over the tendons in the back of his hand. Let himself feel not the dry brittle bones he had seen, but the skin growing outward from the middle of the back of his hand. the spot where there seemed to be the most to work with. Dean opened his eyes. He felt a ragged disappointment. The area was exactly the way that it had been when he closed his eyes.

Instead he focused on just one spot, focused on building it up right there, repairing each damaged layer of skin, when he opened his eyes nothing looked different. But when he ran his thumb over the spot he could have sworn it felt smoother, softer.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked from behind him, “trying to fix him.” Dean said.

“How?”

“The power of my imagination. Apparently.” Dean said, bitterly, “I don’t think it’s working.”

“It wouldn’t.” Cas said, “not like that at least.”

“Thanks Cas, the pep talk is really helping.”

Cas hands found their way over Dean’s. White light flooded out of Dean’s palm and Cas pressed it against Sam’s. Dean watched in blank astonishment as the bones disappeared beneath a thin layer of skin. Cas focused for a long time before he broke off panting. “I’m sorry, there’s too much damage.” In the grand scheme of things the thin layer of skin replaced didn’t do much. “I tried before to help, but the damage I see is not the damage you see. It’s draining to try to repair a soul, bodies are easy, souls resist, Sam wouldn’t let me near him.”

“No offense Cas, you’re kind of an angel, can’t blame him for not wanting you to touch him. I mean this is what an Angel did to him.”

“Dean,” Cas started to say something, then sighed in irritation, it wasn't like Dean wanted to hear it anyways, Cas finally said, “Focus not with your mind, or your imagination, but with your heart. What you’re trying to do, it’s taking part of your soul to fix his. If Sam is your soulmate you should be able to help him. but I’m going to tell you to be cautious, the brother you had is gone. There’s no telling how much you’ll be able to fix, or if it will take, sometimes the damage that is done is so deep that it is undone just as quickly.”

“I know, I’m being unfair,” Dean whispered, “I just, I want him back.”

“Don’t kill yourself in the process,” Cas said softly, Dean didn’t care, if that’s what it took, if he could take from himself all the missing pieces that would fix Sam he’d do it. It’d be worth it. It’d be a way to pay for what he’d done.

Cas left them alone. There wasn’t any more he could do.

The hand in his own started to move trailing up Dean’s shoulder finding the wet tear on the side of his cheek with the pad of his thumb. Sam wiped it away, his fingertips trailed over Dean’s face like they were memorizing it. Soft strokes up through his hair, finger tips trailing over the Shell of his ear, and the down to his thumb tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Dean closed his eyes and allowed the soft exploration. When some time later Sam’s hand fell to Dean’s shoulder he felt the soft, weak squeeze there and then in an instant he was gone.

Dean tried not to let it hurt, in those moments it felt like part of his soul was being torn away, like when Sam was out of his sight he ceased to exist. Dean was terrified that was close to the truth. If it was true, he didn’t want to know it.

The Sam from his memory was where he had been when Dean left the room. Dean sat down across from him and let the memory take him back to better days.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean lost track of the amount of time he’d spent rebuilding his brother. It was a weird way to think about it. He figured out pretty quickly that he had to be careful the order he’d done things in. When he and Cas had fixed the skin on Sam’s hand they hadn’t noticed how loosely connected one of the tendon’s there was. It had involved some careful breaking of the new layer of skin to get the tendon’s back together right and the skin reconnected. It was a complete waste of that days energy in Dean’s opinion. Not because he didn’t want to fix it, but because he had already found out the longer he worked on Sam the longer his own periods of unawareness were. He worked on it until his own exhaustion forced him to stop. He started with the bones that were broken. The missing ribs had taken him months to regrow. Each day a thin layer of added bones built up until he could connect them.

When Dean woke up to feel Sam tracing lines down his arm he sighed, “Okay Sammy, I’m up.” He whispered. Dean reconnected the severed nerves in his brother’s spine. A miracle in itself doctors would be proud of. He was not sure how long he’d been working but it felt like days had passed. The next time he woke up Sam was gone. Dean had never waited so long between visits from him and it had him climbing the walls, half terrified. When Sam reappeared Dean could see a difference. For one the eerie stillness was gone. He moved like he was breathing, Dean had never noticed him doing that before. Sometimes he’d shift his weight or move like he was getting a feel for it. Like he hadn’t been able to before. Dean knew that wasn’t exactly true, had seen from Sam’s memories how much he could feel. But it was different. Somehow Dean thought that one was a spiritual feeling the other was quite possibly purely physical.

If the nerves were extinguishing, the muscles were comparatively easy. Dean found that getting them started was enough, that often by the time he’d get around to doing more work on a section it’d already have doubled his own efforts. Like Sam’s body remembered the strength it once had and was just waiting for Dean to remind it. The damage to Sam’s intestines took more work. A lot more work. In the end Dean had found anatomy books and worked through them slowly.

Dean waited between fixing the soft skin stretched over the muscles of his brother’s groin and starting lower. He half hoped the damage there would fix itself. After resting, when he felt the soft comforting presence of his brother he had to stop and take in the amount of progress they’d made. All of it slow and hard won.

So far Dean had managed to fix his torso, internal organ’s, and his arms and hands. He had wanted to gain a little more confidence before he started on the damage to his face. Dean felt it was time though, time to stop putting it off, He started slowly rebuilding his jaw. Dean started in afterwards on his teeth, first checking with his memories, then deciding to fill a few cavities while he was there. It wasn’t like Sam would ever know the difference. It felt good though to find something he could improve just a little bit. Dean eased his hand around his brother’s throat. Rebuilding his vocal cords, and a section of his throat from scratch. He was half worried Sam would sound different if he didn’t get it right. But the thought was only half entertained. What he was doing felt partially like art, but mostly it felt like he was calling the pieces of his brother back from his memory. He studied the memories as long as he could before moving on to the next part. Then went back fixing and tweaking, and making sure it was perfect before moving on again.

Dean hadn’t spent any time in his memories aside from studying Sam in what felt like months. And the few memories of Sam’s that he’d seen had apparently faded. He wondered if that meant something he should be concerned about.

Dean had already decided he was leaving his eyes for last. Partially so Sam would never have to see what Dean had, and partially because Dean could never remember what color they were, he wanted them to be indistinguishable from the way Sam’s eyes had always looked. He wasn’t comfortable doing that. Not yet at least. Dean rebuilt the small bones in Sam’s ears. Replaced them where they should have been, and then worked carefully to repair his ear drums. It was important. Dean had a theory there had always been something wrong with Sam’s ears or he would have enjoyed Dean’s music a hell of a lot more than he did.

Time had become pretty much meaningless. Dean was working when he heard Cas come to him.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, his voice ragged from disuse.

“Hi,” Cas said Dean could feel him looking over Sam, studying what Dean had accomplished, focusing his attention on some areas before moving on. Dean didn’t say anything, just let him watch.

“What are you doing?’ Cas asked after a very long time with no visible results. Dean was focused on the careful but actually pretty simple process of fixing Sam’s hair follicles. He’d worry about the hair itself later, for now it was just a process of making sure that each section was constructed the right way.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Dean asked, not unkindly.

“Being a perfectionist,” Cas suggested helpfully.

“Close enough,” Dean agreed and continued with what he was doing.

When dean was finished he started focusing lower, building up the areas Sam normally had facial hair.

Cas stayed with them for a while, no longer commenting, but watching. Dean held his tongue even though it made him uncomfortable. Cas was their friend but he had no business to see Sam like this, half finished, years of work behind them, possibly decades of work ahead. It was a start though.

They visited his memories less and less as Dean worked, he could feel the confusion in his brother though and decided if he couldn’t actually show him, yet, he could at least show him what he was working toward. Dean picked a moment, one of many when him and Sam had been working, when Sam was reading and focused on that rather than Dean.

“Come here,” Dean whispered dragging his brother with him. He took Sam’s hand and guided it out to the soft edge of his own image. There was a hesitation, where he pulled back when the Sam in his memory had shifted positions. “Shh, it’s okay,” Dean whispered, “It’s just you. See?” He guided his hand up to his face, Dean watched the fingertips explore. It wasn’t the same way that he’d explored Dean’s skin like he was trying to memorize it. The touch was hesitant, moving only a little at a time. When he pulled away Dean took his hand and guided it to his own face. The look of concentration has his heart twisting painfully. He hoped that Sam would understand, that he’d figured it out. Sam’s hand sought him out, finding dean’s arm, and running up it to run over his lips. Then across his cheek and jaw, the hand went back to his own face. Focused. Dean tried to piece together what he was thinking. It took a moment to realize what he was feeling. Dean felt the rough stubble along his own jaw and laughed. The started look on his brother’s face made him smile, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. Wondered vaguely if this version of Sam had ever heard the sound.

“Think that’s weird?” Dean asked softly, bringing Sam’s hand up to Dean's own short hair, then to the memory of Sam. He watched the way his hands stroked through it, watched his brother feeling it for the first time. Dean pulled the hand away, guiding it up to the short barely there hair on his own head. Saw the tumblrs click into place. This time when Sam reach out for the other version Dean didn’t say anything, just let him explore what he wanted. He kind of regretted not thinking about doing it sooner. Maybe if Sam knew what he was working toward it would have been easier on him.

Dean had been working for so long he almost forgot how much damage there had been when he started. It was long periods of slow careful focus, letting whatever magic existed in the bond between them put together each layer of muscle, and bone, and fat, and skin. Until he knew his brother’s body better than he knew the way his car ran. Dean was careful, precise and controlled, if something wasn’t right, he didn’t want to be the reason for it. Everything had to work perfectly. If there was a flaw, he’d never be able to forgive himself for it.

The next part Dean intended to work on he tried to convince himself he’d been putting off because it was less important, but he’d already carefully recreated most of his brother. He just needed to put what had happened behind him and do it. Dive in and get it over and then he’d never have to think about it again.

Dean made sure that Sam was exhausted from being pushed a little longer than they normally worked. Dean was tired also, but he had to make sure Sam was gone before he revisited the memories he needed to reconstruct the more intimate parts of his brother. He didn’t think the memories had a place in his heaven, and he’d never seen them. Not a single minute from the year he’d been taking care of his brother held any appeal for him. Now though, it almost felt like a necessity. Dean willed himself through the bedroom door, wished he could back out of this part, could leave it to cas, or tell Sam to do it himself, but it was his memories he was building from. And he didn’t have any others that would suffice.

It was so much easier to just go through the memory picking up the details as he went.

He crashed hard, when he was done with the memory waking up to the soft touch against his hand. “Yeah,” He whispered, blinking sleep out of his eyes, “I’m coming Sammy,” He whispered, dragging himself to his feet.

“Okay baby, just a little more,” Dean whispered. Dean detoured through the room that had once been Sam’s grabbing his clothes. It felt weird, for as long as they’d been working on it Dean had never once felt the need to provide clothes for his brother, but then again, ever minute they’d been together Dean had been working on him. Clothes would have just been in the way of it.

He decided the bedroom would work for it just as much as the table had been, “okay Sammy, he said taking his hand and leading him to the bed, “we’re going to do this a little different this time.” Dean pressed him down onto the bed. It was a mockery of sex, the way he knelt between his brother’s legs focusing on healing the last, most intimate part of him. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind, his squeamishness hadn’t been a problem yet. He was careful to make sure the nerves were connected. He had the anatomy books spread out around him, checked and double checked, the way everything went together and connected. Dean’s hand skimmed his brother’s groin, careful not to touch in any way that wasn’t strictly necessary to figure out exactly how to fix him. He had to touch just enough to make sure all his muscles were attached properly. Even that made him uncomfortable. When he was finished he helped his brother into the clothes. He was almost finished. A few details remained, hairs and freckles Dean wanted to check the placement of, and scars that Dean was sure if Sam could remember them he’d want to keep. The thing that had come to him, first a bruised battered remnant of his brother’s soul, Was actually passible for his brother. The last big thing he had to do was fix his eyes, and Dean wanted everything else perfect first. Wanted his brother exactly the way that he was supposed to be before he let Sam see the work they’d done.

Dean was about to collapse, he was too tired to stand, half expected to fall where he was. He looked the other way while his brother explored the newly healed skin by touch. Whatever Sam thought about it he was characteristically silent on the subject. Dean was going back to his bed, he was going to sleep for a month, and then he was going to start on his eyes.

Dean felt the soft tug pulling him back toward the bed. He let himself sink onto it, he’d move after he rested. The soft touch against his face had him turning toward his brother, drinking in the comfort of the familiar with his eyes, and knew Sam was doing the same with his fingertips. Dean let him for a little while before saying softly, “Rest Sammy, we’ll finish when I can.” The hand fell away. Dean again wondered how much he understood. If when it was all said and done it’d be like turning on a switch and he’d truly have his brother back.

He held out the hope, but the silence was worrying. He’d fixed his brother’s throat, fixed the vocal cords, his tongue and teeth and lips and lungs, If the problem wasn’t just physical. Then he didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t know how he was going to fix his memories, he’d worry about that part later.

Dean curled around the body he’d worked so hard on, listened to the heart thumping against his ribs and let the sound lure him into a deeper state of being. Something that bordered closer to sleep. He felt when Sam retreated from him. Not by slipping out of the bed, but by simply dissolving into the air.

Every time he did it Dean was half afraid he just wouldn’t come back. So far he always had though. Dean slipped out of the bed; surprised to find himself waking up in the same place he’d fallen asleep. He walked through the bedroom door and into a diner that had a good breakfast menu. Sam wasn’t there. It was weird to find a memory without some version of his brother in it. He took the coffee with him, he was still tired from the last round, not ready to start again yet. He was starting to be afraid it was taking him longer to recover from working on his brother. It didn’t matter. If he could just let him see again, Dean would be content. It’d be nice to replace those black places with actual images. If who Sam had been was lost, Dean would at least be able to create new memories for him. New moments free from the horrors of their lives.

Dean almost choked on the coffee when Sam appeared next to him. For a second he thought he’d misremembered this place and this day. He saw the soft waves of his brother’s hair and thought for a second that he had this diner confused with a different one. The eyes were still white, still the blue marble blindness that told him it wasn’t the same. He grabbed his hand and tugged him closer hands coming up to stroke through his hair. It was a little shorter, not much, but otherwise Dean couldn’t tell the difference. He wanted to ask him why the hell he’d do something like that, when he was already suffering just from the repair work Dean was doing. He didn’t look tired though, he saw the hesitant smile, and brushed the hair out of his face, “you did good.” He said softly, “Couldn’t have done that better myself. Kind of makes me worry about your vanity.” He said softly, “guess I can let that one flaw pass.”

Dean found a memory, one where they’d been in a hotel, sitting across the table from each other, so close their knees were touching. The light in the place kind of sucked, a yellowish lamp that gave the place a grimy feel. It was good enough, he moved one of the chairs close enough he could work. At first he hoped that it was just a matter of reconstructing the physical appearance of his eyes, but the second Dean started feeling it out he knew he was in for far more work then he was expecting. The nerves were severed. Chips of bone had managed to become imbedded deep in the back of them, Dean had to work them out carefully, the entire interior structure of both of them had pretty much been melted down. Dean didn’t get as much done as he’d been hoping for before he ended up having to take a break. “Gonna lay down a little while,” he told his brother, he half expected Sam to fade out of the room, instead he stayed where he was almost like he hadn’t heard Dean at all. It wasn’t like it really mattered. He’d go when he was ready, or he’d wait for Dean. Either way they couldn’t keep working until Dean had regained some strength.

Dean woke up to the soft sound of his brother talking. He hadn’t woke up in a memory in so long it confused him. Dean felt a little weird listening to the sound of it. He’d gotten so use to spending his every minute with the silent version. It sounded like Sam was repeating himself, like he was saying the same thing over and over again. Dean groped in the dark looking for a light switch. His hand found the wall but the light didn’t work. He moved toward the sound of his brother’s voice, reached out a hand and it connected with his shoulder. He let his hand slide across the skin, and found he wasn’t the only one touching. He felt the fingertips pressing against his brother’s neck, soft there, “What are you doing?” Dean asked gently, feeling knocked out of his depth. It was a memory of a memory but where before all of his brother’s memories had been disjointed impressions, the world had seemed without substance, dean could feel the carpet under his feet, felt the rough stubble on his brother’s jaw, felt the light switch on the wall. Other than being dark, there wasn’t a question, the place was real enough. Not an impression but a memory, black but not empty.

He felt his heart contract at the knowledge he’d been the one to give Sam that back. He could still hear the memory looping, it was pretty short, a brief sentence. Dean realized though, it was Sam’s voice that the memory was centered around. A random sentence, the memory started with the sound of him talking, and ended when he paused for breath.

“Sam,” Dean whispered, “What are you looking for?” He let his own memory of the moment fill the blackness with color, put light back into it. Sam would never notice dean took it over, but it was easier for him to see what he was missing.

His brother was pressing his fingertips against his lips feeling them move his other hand was pressed to his own where he was mimicking the movements, copying each one. Starting over each time he finished the sentence. The look of focused frustration had Dean wanting to tell him it was okay, he wasn’t ready; he didn’t have to push himself so hard.

“Sam, you got to stop,” Dean whispered, pulling the hand away, he saw that Sam wanted to fight him on it, wanted to reach back up but he let Dean take his hand. Dean pressed his hand to his throat in the memory; let him feel the vibrations in the words. “See, buddy there is more to it than that, I’m gonna help you, but you’re not ready yet. Just give me a little more time.” Dean pulled them out of the memory, he landed them back in the bunker, sat his brother down on the table and started back to work, he’d been stupid to think he could just jump right in and everything would be fine he had to build back up the structure before he worried about the colors. It wasn’t as complex as nerves, but it was still slow work, he wasn’t sure what he was even doing to start with. Dean worked probably the slowest he ever had, before he finally called it enough for the day. He was close. Sam’s brow was furrowed in concentration. Dean moved away from him, stretching to pop his back.

Dean knew he should take a break, his hands were starting to shake, but he wanted to at least get the other side started first.

Sam grabbed his hand stopping Dean from reaching for him. In a moment Dean found himself plunged back into inky darkness. The sound of his own voice echoed around him, ‘Rest Sammy.”

He smiled, “yeah, you may be right bitch.” Dean said into the darkness, he found his way back to his bed and crawled into it. His brother was there in an instant beside his bed. “What?” Dean asked, before he rolled his eyes and moved over, “fine but just this time,” he muttered he used Sam’s wrist to guide him into the bed, wrapped his arms around him, and lay in the silence feeling the warmth radiating from him, and listening to the steady sound of his breathing. Dean kissed the back of his brother’s head.

Maybe tomorrow they’d actually be finished.

Dean woke up to the soft touch stroking over his face. He smiled and turned toward Sam, “I’m awake.” He whispered, “just a little longer okay?”

Dean was dragged from the memory, “geez you’re impatient.” Dean whispered, Dean could practically feel the hum of anxious energy surrounding his brother. he reached out searching for the place where he needed to start. The area was almost finished. He realized with some surprise, what Dean had done to the first one Sam had pretty much accomplished on his own with the second. Dean tweeked a couple spots reshaping them just a little, before he moved on. When the lens was done on one Dean moved over to the other, somehow he’d missed it, Sam had been working with him. Not as fast, or as carefully, but it halved the amount of time Dean had to spend there. He focused on the milk white scar tissue left on the surface, he could see the darkness behind them, see the outline of where his pupil would be when Dean finished lying beneath top layer. Dean worked on it slowly, working around the pupil and working his way back. He stopped frequently to check the progress then went back to work. When he wasn’t sure how confident he felt he went and found a memory of Sam, angled his face where Dean wanted and studied the way the colors bled together. Sam wasn’t pulling away from his touch, but Dean felt the tension in his body, felt the way he turned his head away from him on occasion. Dean waited until he turned back to start working again.

Dean cleared up the last of the tissue and pulled back. The colors weren’t exactly right. It was driving him crazy. “Hold on,” he said and went and checked again. Dean thought that maybe he had messed up, that maybe he was mistaking the colors, he’d used different memories. The dimly lit motel room off the interstate, the time they’d been sitting on the hood next to a lake and Dean kept thinking that Sam’s eyes were brighter than the sun fired water. He wasn’t sure which was the true color, they all looked right, all matched the way he remembered, but none of them were right. He tried again pulling deeper blues and greens, tried to make it look right.

His frustration was almost to the breaking point. Before he noticed that Sam was blinking against the glare of the light but wasn’t pulling away he was letting Dean keep adjusting and readjusting and tweaking the color. Dean stopped when Sam’s hand came up to touch his face. Fingertips trailing over his lip and up over his face. “Hi,” Dean said at last, not sure of any words that could say what he was feeling in that moment. Sam was looking at him and actually seeing him.

The soft smile, the tilt of his lips made dean’s heart ache worse, he felt the way that Sam was studying not where he was, not the world around him but Dean. He ran a fingertip over his brother’s bottom lip, and mimicked the way Dean had said hi, it was completely silent. But it was more than he’d ever dared to hope for. He threw his arms around his brother and pulled him close squeezing him hard; a surprised grunt came from his brother. Dean burst out laughing. Made worse when he pulled away and Sam’s eyes were wide with surprise.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean remembered a time when Sam had been a genius. A time when his brain ran circles around everyone. He remembered the way his brother would spend hours reading, how he liked to learn. Dean remembered how hard he worked to be normal.

He didn’t want to think what would happen when Sam remembered the things he’d forgotten. He was currently sitting in a park, one Dean had only gone to on a case, but there was a woman with a over eager puppy there. Dean didn’t know what it was about animals, but they reacted differently than people. People were like recordings, animals were like…animals. They could interact with them. It was something Dean was grateful for, watching his brother with his long legs folded underneath him his hands being licked by the dog he was trying to pet. A stupid happy smile on his face.

“So I found it,” Sam’s voice from beside him made Dean jump. He’d forgotten again that sometimes his memories had Sam in them. Not the Sam that was currently being mauled by the most vicious tiny puppy ever, but the other one, the one before. Dean took the coffee that was offered to him, and watched his brother sit down. He leaned forward looking out over the park rather than at dean.

Dean didn’t listen to whatever else his brother had said, focused instead on watching, he wished the memory version of Sam would just go away. Wished he didn’t have to see the reminder. Dean only could look at the other one, the one that was truly Sam’s, pure unfiltered goodness. He was better than Dean had ever given him credit for. He turned at some point, the puppy forgotten and walked to Dean he looked from the remembered version of himself to Dean. He pet the soft curl of his own hair with the same soft affectionate look he’d just had turned on the puppy. Dean had no fucking clue what that was about, if it’d been before he would have made a joke about needing to get a room. He wouldn’t get it though so Dean didn’t say anything.

It was different now, Dean’s memories had become Sam’s memories. There was nowhere outside their own heaven. And Dean was careful not to venture into darker waters. He moved them from parks to road side attractions, to lakes, and star lit nights. Fireworks on the fourth of July he’d shied away from, but that was for his own reasons. He let Sam have the good memories and kept all the bad ones locked inside him.

There was a point where the memories were doubled. Dean’s original memories and Sam’s memories had bled together to the point Dean couldn’t tell sometimes who had picked the moment for them. The two places that were Dean’s recreations of Sam’s heaven he pretended no longer existed. Pretended he’d never gotten that glimpse inside his brother’s head, Of a heaven without Dean.

Dean couldn’t imagine a heaven without Sam. Somehow he’d ended up with two of him, and both were pale comparisons to what his brother had been.

Dean wondered if it ever occurred to Sam to be jealous of the memory. If he could sense what he lost. It didn’t seem to bother him but Dean still avoided trying to interact with the memory directly. Dean wasn’t really expecting it when his brother disappeared on him. Dean could feel the low pressure through the core of his being, the tie that bound them together pulling him in the direction his brother had disappeared to. But he didn’t follow. If sam wanted him with him, he could have taken him.

It was weird to him, even like this sometimes Sam just liked to be alone. He’d disappear for hours at a time, come back and be like he was never gone. Following Dean wherever he wanted to go. Most of the time Dean would take out the car and drive down the lost highways. These were truly lost though, Baby was the only thing on the roads, Dean the only person who could drive her. But Still when he had Sam beside him, for a little while he could let himself pretend.

He barely noticed the soft hum when Sam started singing along to the radio. At first he thought it was part of his memory. but that Sam was asleep head pressed against the cool glass of the passenger side window. His breath left a white condensation patch there. This sound was coming from behind him. Dean looked in the mirror and Saw his brother stretched across the seat Dean’s leather coat wrapped around his shoulder’s he wasn’t singing, but Dean thought it was close enough to count.

Dean was wondering, drifting through memories of Sam as a kid while Sam was doing other things. He was smiling leaned against a wall, It had always been one of his favorite memories. The first time Sam had said his name. Dean was listening to him struggle with it, “Come on Sammy,” he whispered, “you got this.” He said silently. Of course he had it, that’s why dean remembered it.

There was a soft sound beside him, and he turned to see his brother standing on the other side, watching the memory play, he saw the focus on his face, and decided that whatever Sam was thinking about it could wait a little longer.

“Dean?” The voice came out soft, questioning, and almost scared sounding.

Dean turned toward him in surprise, it was impossible, Dean had already given up on it ever happening, but he still pulled his brother toward him, hugging him and laughing, “Knew you were too damn stubborn.” Dean said softly. Sam was smiling against his neck a stupid, too pleased with himself smile. Dean ran his hand through his brother’s hair pushing it out of his face, “see that wasn’t so hard was it?” Dean didn’t get an answer. But then he didn’t need one anymore.

Dean lost track of time, how long they’d been alone together didn’t matter. They spent most of their time the way they always had, only without the hunting. It was quiet, and Dean was pretty sure he was losing his mind from boredom. Sam was disappearing on him more frequently. Disappearing for hours at a time to come back relaxed and smiling.

Dean found himself matching the smile, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you found a girl.” He said. It struck him how unfunny that it was.

“Where do you go?” He asked, “what did you find out there that you keep going back to?” Dean figured It was probably one of the dog parks. Or somewhere quiet that Dean had taken him that he’d rather do alone.

The memories Dean tended to revisit were the ones when they were kids, the ones where Sam was still in the dark about the monster’s and the hell to come. When he smiled easier and looked at Dean like he could do no wrong. Those were the ones he wanted to never forget. The later ones. The ones on the road where they’d spent most of their life, hurt more, twisted in his heart in a way that he didn’t want to have to face. But sometimes he found himself unable to stay away, needing for just a little while to hear his little brother’s voice. It was weird the things he missed. Weird to sit listening to him explain the details to hunts he didn’t care to remember, and it left Dean wishing he’d talked longer.

Dean could probably count every word his brother had ever said. Could probably go back to the start of his memories and relive every moment. Save every version of his voice all over again, count the sighs and the pauses and the verbal ticks. It wasn’t fair. He went back to the days when Sam had barely been crawling listened to the first words, listened to the first sentences, listened to the sweet, babbling chatter that didn’t have a meaning. It was his own special kind of torture. He liked it though, loved every one of the ghosts of Sam in his memories.

He spent years of his eternity watching his brother grow up. Sometimes he’d stop go back to the version of the bunker, but then he’d have to go back, have to see the moments he took for granted. The moments if he could have he would have shaken himself and screamed at him, to be nicer to his brother. He wouldn’t know how much he’d miss him till he was gone.

Sometimes, Dean would end up back in the bunker; sometimes though Sam would drag him out of his own memories and back to the park. Dean would hate him for it, but he’d also be grateful, because too long in those moments and Dean would feel like he was drowning. His heart would break all over again, and there’d be Sam, this crazy, silent, weirdly happy version, taking him out of his misery to go play with a damn puppy. Sometimes Dean would find himself reaching for the coffee Sam had brought him without looking. Talking to the memory version of Sam, it was his own personal therapy session, he laughed at the thought, but he didn’t stop talking. Someone had to.


	6. Chapter 6

It was just another Day. Sam wasn’t there when Dean woke up in Kansas; he didn’t bother looking for him. Lately he’d been gone almost constantly; Dean had his coffee in Seattle and then decided he wanted a burger in Saint Louis. He was on the highway somewhere in Maine listening to his brother singing to the radio when he felt Sam show up.

“’bout time,” He muttered, “where the hell were you?”

He looked in the mirror only long enough to see the hesitation on his brother’s face. Sam met his eyes, a shy smile lit up his face then he said, “Practicing.”

Dean hit the brakes on the car, not meaning to, his brain temporary not processing what had just happened. Then he was on the side of the road, climbing out of the car and dragging Sam with him. He had his arms around his brother hugging him tight, “how long have you been practicing?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, his cheeks tinged pink, “since always.” He said, “as long as I can remember at least.” Dean listened for a break in the words, some clue he wasn’t as good as he sounded. He didn’t hear anything off.

“We should celebrate,” Dean said, “anywhere you want to go?”

Dean half expected to be dragged back to the park. Instead they were back in the bunker. “Wait here,” Dean said and went to the kitchen. He stepped back in beside Sam and sat the beers on the table, he popped the top on one and handed it to his brother, the bottles clinked together and he grinned tipping it up, smiling when Sam followed his lead. Dean felt warmth spreading through his chest, felt the smile he couldn’t seem to wipe off his lips. He’d given up, Sam hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t, when had Sam ever given up on anything? Dean shook his head pushing any thoughts of before out of his head. “Why now?” He asked after setting down the empty bottle.

“I need to tell you something,” Sam said.

Dean’s brow arched, “seriously?” he could only imagine what was important enough for Sam to break a hundred years of silence.

Sam nodded, a slow movement, the seriousness on his face made Dean stop smiling, “okay, yeah, anything you’ve got to say man, that’s what I’m here for.”

Sam smiled at him, a bright happy look that squeezed Dean’s heart, and then looked down at the table. “I love you.” He said.

“Love you to,” Dean said, trying not to laugh with how good it was to hear his brother’s voice. He pulled the giddy joy he was caught up in down to a manageable level. Everything he ever wanted he finally had. It wasn’t supposed to be possible.

He had always thought that he had so much he wanted to say. Now that he had chance, the word stuck in his throat. He took another drink to wash them down. He’d say them eventually for now, he just wanted to hear his brother talk some more.

“So…” Dean hesitated, “I guess now that you’re talking to me again, what do you want to talk about?”

There was a moment when dean was afraid he wasn’t going to say anything that he was going to wake up. That this was just something he’d dreamed up to make himself feel better. Dean found himself pulled back into a memory. The one he most often visited the last good day before he’d left earth behind, to his brother reading at the table.

Dean looked between the brother he’d rebuilt and the brother he lost. The soft adoring smile was back when Sam put his hand on the memory, fingertips lightly petting through his hair, “tell me about him.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean stared at Sam. “There’s nothing to tell. He’s you, you’re him, end of story.”

“Please?” He asked. Dean wanted to scream at him, to rant, and yell and start swinging. It hurt, he shouldn’t have to tell him, shouldn’t have to explain it. It wasn’t right.

“You’re mad?” Sam asked looking down at the other version rather than at Dean. “What did I do?”

Dean wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Wasn’t sure how he was supposed to handle something like this. He didn’t even know where to start to explain it. What they’d been, what they’d done, what they’d lost. Where did he even start? “Nothing Sam,” He whispered, “just trust me okay, there’s nothing to tell.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. “I don’t know how to be him.”

Dean was left alone. He wanted to throw something, wanted to break something. Wanted to shoot something. He had his gun in hand before the thought could finish forming. It was easy to find something to shoot at, he’d done enough of it in his life. He hated himself for how much it hurt him. He knew Sam wasn’t the same, but it was still Sam. He shouldn’t have to ask. He should just know. Dean fired until the clip was empty, reloaded, and did it again. The sound echoed around him fueled the anger burning beneath his skin.

He wanted to destroy everyone that had a hand in what had happened to Sam. Wanted to kill them, and relive killing them a hundred times. He settled for firing long spent shells into paper targets.

It didn’t make him feel better. He still needed to apologize to Sam, still needed to at least explain to him why. Why it ripped him to shreds that Sam even had to ask.

Dean dropped the gun down on a counter, it wasn’t like he was worried about misplacing it. He found Sam under a Midwest sunset. He was watching the sky shifting with the look of pure wonderment; Dean wanted to keep that wonder, and that innocence. He didn’t want Sam to have to know about what they’d been through, about what they’d done, about the people they’d been.

Dean didn’t announce his arrival, he didn’t have to, Sam could feel him coming.

He sat down next to him, let the silence spin out between them. Then he let his hand rest on his brother’s shoulder, felt the solidness of him and squeezed the spot. “He was smart.” Dean said softly. “Smartest person I ever knew, smarter than me anyways.” He sighed, “Man, you got to understand, this isn’t easy for me. I lost you, I was supposed to save you and I couldn’t. So now, now I finally feel like I’ve got you back, and you throw that line at me, that you’re not really him?” Dean swallowed, “Sometimes you’re so close to how you use to be that I forget you don’t remember any of it.”

“He was stubborn, the kind of stubborn to spend a century learning a language just to use it to piss me off.” He smiled, “also, he was patient. More patient than I deserved. I mean he let me get away with so much shit.” Dean shook his head. “I don’t know what you want to know.”

“You love him.” Sam said softly.

“Yeah, man I love you.” Dean said, “I mean you’re my brother, my pain in the ass awesome little brother, the things I’ve done just to keep you in one piece.”

It was quiet. Dean wondered if he’d already ran out of the words he’d figured out how to use. “Show me?” He asked.

“No.” Dean said, “don’t ask me to relive that, don’t ask me to go back there.” He saw the disappointment saw how easily he accepted it and it wasn’t right. It just wasn’t but Dean had always known he was selfish. This was just one more way. Finally he sighed, ‘those things, I’m not proud of them, and they aren’t things that really say anything about you, or him, however you want to think of it, they’re more about me, but I can show you other things.”

It wasn’t long before Dean hit a pretty serious snag in his plan. He hadn’t realized how big a part of their life hunting was until he tried to find memories to share that weren’t related to hunting, Conversations that didn’t end up about monsters or victims were actually pretty rare.

Dean did notice that Sam didn’t talk much. He was quieter than he’d ever been. There’d been a time when they never ran out of things to talk about, when they talked about everything and anything. Now though Sam was still pretty much silent. He didn’t make the little sounds that Dean had always associated with his brother. The noises that meant he was thinking, or he thought dean was being stupid, or he was enjoying something. It was weird. Dean had always thought those noises were borderline involuntary. Now though it seemed like it maybe wasn’t. It was one more difference Dean was going to have to accept.

Dean didn’t think about the things he missed from life before heaven. He had spent most of his time over the years working with Sam teaching him all the things his brother had forgotten.

They were in the middle of a poker game, Dean had never been more proud of losing. That didn’t stop him from demanding a rematch. Sam rolled his eyes and dragged the poker chips to his side of the table.

It would have been easier to just leave it at that, instead he shuffled the deck, “okay, you know how to play,” He winked, and started dealing again. “now, I’m going to teach you how to win.”

“I did win.” Sam said.

“Yeah, you did. I don’t mean winning by luck, I mean winning by cheating.” Dean corrected, “can’t rely on luck when you need cash.” Dean let the silence spread out between them. Let his brother watch him shuffle. it was good to know he’d never have to worry about having to play cards to pay for gas again. He didn’t know how he felt about the fact this Sam would never know what that desperation had felt like, he wouldn’t have to know how to use stolen credit cards, and fake ids. He wouldn’t have to know what it was like to sleep in motel rooms every night, and be chased by monsters in the dark; he didn’t have to know any of it. All he ever had to know was what Dean decided to tell him. He tried to ignore the guilt the thought bought with it. He wasn’t keeping things from Sam, it was more like he was protecting him. The way he couldn’t before.

The second game went a little more to dean’s choosing. He explained every trick that he could think of. “One of these days we’ll go to the roadhouse, and play against other people.” Dean said.

Sam gave him a look, that dean couldn’t quite deciper.

‘What?” He asked finally, “you don’t want to go? Fine. We won’t go, it’s not that big a deal.”

“There’s other people?” Sam asked softly.

“Of course there’s other people,” Dean bit out, “come on Sam, how stupid can you be? The whole universe isn’t just the two of us with the rest of the world on repeat.”

He regretted it when the words came out of his mouth. Regretted the way his brother shifted away from him. Dean hadn’t meant to get upset, hadn’t meant to yell, but it was stupid. Sam had to know better than that.

Sam nodded, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I..I thought we couldn’t leave.”

“There isn’t anywhere to go.” Dean said, “I mean this is ours. The rest of it out there, isn’t, I can’t keep you safe out there.”

Sam nodded again, “you do a good job, keeping me safe.”

Dean wanted to ask him what he was even talking about; there wasn’t anything for him to be kept safe from outside of Dean’s own memories, the ones that he was careful to pick and choose which ones he let Sam see.

“Sam.” Dean whispered, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“You told me that.” Sam said, “You keep telling me that. Why? What did I do that’s so bad, you don’t even want me to see it? You remember every stupid thing, every dog and every A plus homework, and every damn skinned knee, and then nothing?” he stood up and Dean saw the set to his shoulders saw the fire that was in him, and for just a second, just a fraction of a moment he was Sam again, Sam the way he remembered him, burning with his own cause, doing what he thought was right for no other reason than he thought it was right and ignoring anything Dean tried to tell him.

“All of these places, and moments, they’re not real are they? Not like this is real.”

“How can you tell?” Dean asked. Sam moved away from him, walked to the bookshelf and held Dean’s stare while pulling out one of the books, Dean could see the anger simmering beneath the look, saw the tension in his jaw. Sam came back carrying the book and slammed it down on the table in front of him, knocking the cards off in the process. He opened the cover a large graphite “X” covered the inside page. “It’s the only one that stays.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pencil.

“They’re memories.” Dean said, ‘they were real when they happened, this is just reruns.” He didn’t look away from the book. “How? I was careful.” Dean said, “I didn’t want you to know.”

Sam took his hand. Dean let him guide the way. Sam shoved open a door and stepped through it, back into the room where he had been. Only this time the other memory version of Sam was sitting at the table, turning pages on the book.

“So?” Dean asked, “it’s just the bunker.”

“I came back here.” He said softly, “but you were like that repeating like he is.” Sam waited for Dean to get it then said at last, “when you’re with me, the other one isn’t here, but when you’re not…” he shrugged, “It’s how I knew I’m not him, when the real you is here, the fake you leaves.” He looked up his eyes wet, “he never leaves. He’s always the same, your memory, mine, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how hard I try. I can’t be him. I thought if I could make him go away…” he shifted awkwardly, “I don’t know. I thought you’d stop hurting so much, that if I could learn to be him, I could make you happy.”

“I don’t want you to be him.” Dean said, “I want you safe.”

“He wasn’t safe?”

“No.” Dean said and almost laughed at the idea, ‘He was never safe, there was something after him his entire life. And it got him, in the end I lost him, and I got you instead, and I don’t want to lose you to. Not after all of this. Not after getting back more than I thought I’d get.”

Sam said finally,“I have to know why you stopped remembering me.”

“I never stopped.” Dean said softly, “I remember everything. But the things out there, the things we’ve been through.” He was going to have to tell him. Or Sam would figure it out. Hell Sam had figured it out.

“Okay,” he said, giving up, “come on, lets get out of here.”

Dean took a step through the door, ended up in a motel room, his little brother laying on a bed waiting for him to come home. December from a lifetime ago. Dean played out his part of the memory fighting to keep his eyes on the memory and not let them drift up to see how his brother was reacting. It was short. It was sweet, when it was over, dean let it fade away, let them come back to the stationary center. He brought out the journal. “Here,” he said, “read it, we’ll talk later.”

Dean walked out, left Sam alone, and went to go find something easier to deal with. He found himself sitting in a bar, he didn’t know which one, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t until the girl walked up and sat down across from him that he remembered. He let himself fall back into the memory. he could say whatever he wanted. This one at least was a sure thing.

Dean was half way into pounding the girl into the mattress before it dawned on him how fucked up it was. His brain had short circuited back to wondering what Sam was thinking, and she reacted to something that he’d done in the past, something he’d forgotten to do in the moment. Dean couldn’t even pretend she was real anymore. She was worse than a doll. She was worse than a dream, she was another memory. Something long past that he was trying to lose himself in. Still he was hard, and she was willing, and wet, and he could pretend he didn’t notice. No one would know.

Dean rolled off her, and watched as she disappeared into the bathroom. “Dean?” Sam’s voice about made him jump out of his skin.

“Jesus.” Dean yelped, pulling the tangled blanket over his waist, “don’t you knock?”

“Generally no,” Sam admitted, the woman came back into the room, her black lace panties the only thing she had on. Dean threw the pillow at Sam to make him look away from her. Which would have worked better if she hadn’t climbed onto the bed with him. Dean was playing this a little closer to the real thing than he would have realized because she ended up with on hand against his crotch, “How about round two?” She whispered, kissing him, but somewhat missing, because Dean moved. “Go Sam,” Dean yelped. And was relieved to see his brother listened. Dean followed, showing back up fully dressed.

Sam was standing next to the table looking awkwardly down at the place the journal was left. Dean was ready to talk to him, or at least was until he saw the way Sam’s hand was pressing against his own crotch, kneading against himself slightly.

“Jesus, Sam, stop that.” Dean barked, “Christ you’d think you didn’t know what sex was.” Dean almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing, Sam was blushing, a vibrant pink color to his cheeks, his hand fell away though, “so you want to talk, or did you just drop in for the show?”

“So that stuff, that’s what happened?”

“Some of it,” Dean said sitting down at the table, Sam sat across from him, and leaned forward.

“What about us?”

“What about us?” Dean repeated.

“Well, that’s Dad’s story right? The monster’s and Mom, and the fire, that’s dad’s life, what about ours?”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me.” Dean said, but he kind of got it, “We grew up on the road, while Dad saved people, you went to school, dad disappeared, I went and got you, and we hunted together. That’s it, end of story. We hunted and then one day we found something we couldn’t handle and you were lost, I tried to keep you safe, but I couldn’t. And then you died, and came here, So I took some time to take care of things and then I came to find you, and you know the rest.”

“That’s not enough.” Sam said looking at the book. “You said something was after me, and there are some things in there, that dad thought... you have to tell me what was after me.”

“Sam, you don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t want me to know, there’s a difference Dean.” Sam said, and Dean smiled bitter and happy at the same time.

“Okay, you’re right.” He closed his eyes, trying to find the best way to explain it. “It was a demon.” He said softly, the rest of the story flowed out of him. He didn't mean for it to happen, but once he started talking. It was hard to stop it. He had told everything right up to the trails, right up to the promise in the church. Then hesitated. Dean didn’t want to tell him the rest, the parts that were at least in part because of Dean’s choices. He pushed past it though, telling Sam about the mark, and Cain, and releasing the darkness, and where Sam went. “You didn’t wait for me,” He said softly, “I knew it was a bad idea, but I didn’t think you’d actually go face him by yourself.” He shook his head, “but you did, and I didn’t get there in time.”

Dean didn’t realize Sam was moving toward him until he felt the soft fingertip brushing against the side of his face. Dean turned and let himself sink into the offered hug. “It’s okay,” Sam whispered, “It’s okay, whatever happened, I don’t need to know that badly.”

“Sam,” Dean choked on the word, “Nothing matters without you.”

“I’m here.” He said softly.

Dean pulled away, “You wanted to know,”

‘I do, but it can wait.” He said. Dean was pulled out of the chair and through a door. “Where are we going?’ He asked a fraction of a second before he recognized the room, “Sam?” He looked around the house he had shared with Lisa, as far as he had known Sam had never seen it.

“I know, you don’t want me here,” Sam said, shifting guiltily from foot to foot, “You come here sometimes when You want to get away from me.”

“You followed me.”

“I didn’t mean to.” He said quickly, “It just happened and when I saw her, I left.”

Dean knew how it was though, sometimes when Sam left he felt the tug to go with him, sometimes he had followed him to find him in the park. Though that was different.

“Sam,” Dean said softly, “I was only here, while you were gone, I wasn’t happy, but it was like a good dream. Sometimes, it’s nice to pretend this was my life.”

Sam gave him a sad smile, “I’m sorry I made it hard for you.”

“I could have chosen to stay, I could have had this, but when you came back, I wanted to be with you more. Maybe I loved her, but you’re the one that I couldn’t live without.” Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he should have realized it was even a possibility, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that he ever expected to happen. He had put a hand on his brother’s shoulder trying to convey how much it meant to him for Sam to try to take him somewhere he thought Dean had been happy. Sam turned toward him, his eyes fell from Dean’s eyes to his lips. Dean wasn’t expecting him to move forward quickly and silently. Sam’s lips were soft against his own, pressing gently before he pulled away.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked, it was too late for Sam to hear, he’d already disappeared, to wherever Sam thought he needed to go to think.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Sam when he showed back up, he choose to pretend that it had never happened, that Sam had just gotten caught up in a moment and reacted. Dean overthought it until he couldn’t spend another second thinking about it.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean decided the easiest way for Sam to understand would probably be to show him. They had time, all the time in eternity if he was being honest.

At first Sam was quiet, watching with a strange curiosity while they wandered through Dean’s memories. Dean taking him through everything from the earliest memories, to when he had outgrown Dean, to the relief Dean felt when he had Sam pinned beneath him at the apartment. He expected more of a reaction from Sam at seeing Jessica, and felt a pang of disappointment when Sam barely even asked about her. The stuff that came after was harder, but when he wasn’t actively avoiding them he had to admit they had some really good moments when they had first gotten back on the road together.

It was at Cold Oak that Dean had broken down crying all over again while Sam collapsed into his arms. Reliving the moment was really exactly like reliving it, Like losing his little brother all over again. When Dean laid his body down on a barren mattress in a desolate cabin he was instantly pulled away, his brother’s arms wrapping around him and tugging him close, Dean felt the shuddering sobs ripping through him while he wrapped his arms around the copy, the one that didn’t remember, didn’t know, He clawed his hands into the fabric of his shirt, and held on trying to fight through the renewed pain that he had thought was so far behind him.

Sam’s voice seemed to be coming to him through a distance. The desperate promises that everything was okay had Dean trying to calm down, it was in the past, it was over, it was too late to change, and even knowing how it had gone, he still would have done it all over again.

Dean almost lost his balance when he was spun, quick and hard and slammed against the wall. Sam’s lips were on his, not quick and easy and soft, but hard, and demanding. Dean was still reeling, when he realized his grip had tightened, he was clinging to Sam desperate to feel something other than the pain in his heart that was drowning him alive.

It felt like he was drowning, drowning on the taste of his lips and the pressure of Sam’s hand against the back of his neck and the other hand at his waist, holding him with his presence if nothing else. He pulled back only long enough for Dean to catch the heat in his eyes, he started to ask something, maybe why, maybe to tell him to stop maybe, to just say something, it didn’t matter, before the words could make it past Dean’s lips Sam was back kissing him again.

He pulled back, “love you,” the words were punctuated with another kiss, “love you so much,”

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, “You gotta stop.”

Dean felt the way he pressed closer, his breath coming out hard and fast, and Dean opened his eyes to see the wet tears clinging to his brother’s face, the anguish and the desperation there, was familiar, but Dean couldn’t place it, couldn’t figure it out.

Sam stepped away from him, and Dean looked from him to the body on the bed. It didn’t even look like the same person, and Dean couldn’t stop the ache he knew that he had screwed it up somehow made the story into something that it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said after a moment, his confusion warring with the ache in his chest, “we can’t do this, he’s,” he swallowed around a lump in his throat, pushed past the ache of seeing his brother lying motionless and lifeless one more time, “that’s my brother.” He looked back to the pained look on his face, “You’re my brother.”

It was too painful to stay in the memory, Dean took them out of it, back to the bunker, back to the place that was free from the ghosts of Dean’s past.

“Give me another reason. not to love you,” Sam demanded.

“Sam,” there were too many reasons for him to pick one. Hell there didn't need to be another reason. They just couldn't.

“I’m serious.” Sam whispered, moving closer, “Tell me you don’t love me, tell me you don’t want something more than this, tell me you think that really matters, because I can’t remember being your brother, but when you hurt it kills me.” He ran a hand through his hair leaning forward to crowd into Dean’s space, his thumb traced over Dean’s bottom lip and he met his eyes in a challenging smirk, “You’re the only thing that exists in my life.” Dean felt the breath stolen from his lungs when Sam kissed him again, before pulling back and saying, “I want all of you.”

It was wrong. Dean should have been able to come up with a million reasons he couldn’t give Sam what he wanted. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” Dean said holding on to the last frayed edges of his control.

“So show me,” Sam said, and Dean felt the desperate need to get away from the situation, because he felt like he could die all over again. He should be putting a stop to it, should be pulling away, and shoving Sam away, and ranting and screaming, and doing all the things he did when he was trying to make Sam fucking understand. But he didn’t want it over just yet, it felt so good just to be looked at, and wanted, and not by some damn memory on replay where all he could do was repeat what he’d always done.

Maybe he’d lost his damn mind, and this was his punishment for all the things he’d done wrong. ‘Dean,” Sam whispered his name, filled with so much want, that it made him feel light headed.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, “Okay, just take it slow Sammy.” He grabbed his brother’s wrists and pulled them away from him. Dean wondered vaguely how much Sam had figured out, wondered how much he’d taken for granted when he assumed that Sam would figure this part out. “Tell me what you want.”

Sam shrugged again, “I don’t know. I’ve never done this.”

The words were like ice water on the current situation, but Dean felt a surge of shocked pride. Sam had no memories of kissing anyone other than Dean, had no memories of anything with anyone that wasn’t Dean, and Dean had very few of Sam with anyone else, and the ones he had weren’t detailed.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned against his neck, “You’re a virgin.”

Sam didn’t deny it.

“So this, this is really all you’ve ever done.”

“Shut up Dean.” Sam whispered against his lips.

Dean stopped, pulling away enough to meet his brother’s eyes, “have you even jerked off before.” He could see the pink blush on Sam’s skin.

Sam rolled his eyes at him, and as stupid as it was it made Dean’s chest swell with unexpected happiness. “It’s not broken.”

“As much work as I put into that thing it better not be broken,” Dean said, then realized how bad it sounded to his own ears, the problem was Sam made a soft sound, Dean didn’t know what it meant but it made him shift awkwardly. Dean cleared his throat and looked away.

Maybe he should have thought it through a little more, maybe he should have insisted on them slowing down and making sure it was really what Sam wanted and that he wasn’t going through with it just because Dean was the only person around. The only thing he knew.

Dean’s eyes were still wet from reliving watching his brother die, but Sam was there hands roaming over Dean’s skin like they belonged there, like he had the right to touch him. Like he was something precious that Sam was exploring. Dean hurt with how much he loved him, hurt with how he’d do anything to keep him, and to make him happy.

He already knew how twisted and sick he was, but god he’d take it, just to keep Sam looking at him with that hungry adoration. Dean was lost, lost on a swell of unexpected desire that felt as familiar to him as his own skin.

“Sammy,” He whispered reverently.

“Hmm?” Sam sighed kissing against his neck, rough stubble scrapping the sensitive skin there.

If he was going to do it. Then, he was going to not overthink it. Dean shoved, hard and sudden and Sam never saw it coming, stumbling backwards. Dean followed him, slammed him against the wall. Eyes lingered first on his lips then darted up to his eyes. Sam was leaning toward him, his lips parted, eyes half closed, watching Dean. And it was all he needed to see. The permission he needed to just give in. He forced Sam down to his level, a hand on his brother’s neck tilting his head up to the right angle to kiss him.

“Okay,” Dean whispered when he finally pulled back. One step took him to the kitchen where he pulled an ice cold bottle of whiskey from a freezer. Another step took them to his room and he poured shots in the glasses. The whiskey burned all the way down, cool and smooth, and warmed him from the inside out. Sam followed him, tossed the shot back and seemed to wait, waited for Dean to tell him what to do.

It wasn’t enough alcohol to get either of them drunk, but it was warm and comforting, and Dean gave himself over to the sensation. Let his hands roam over Sam’s back, when he went back to kissing him.

“One more first time,” Dean whispered, “this is the last one, okay?”

Sam couldn’t know what he meant, but smiled at him easily.

Dean stripped his brother’s clothes off, let his hands roam over the miles of skin, remembered what it was like to have Sam laid out, bare, and broken in front of him, waiting on Dean to call him back to existence. Sam wasn’t just Dean’s soulmate, he was remade from Dean’s own soul, his love and devotion and determination had called him into existence. It’d taken so much, and so long, and now, now Sam was offering himself to Dean.

Dean was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude, that Sam was not just his, but that he was even there. That he hadn’t been lost forever. That there was enough of his brother left, for Dean to save. He’d been so close to losing him.

Dean let his mouth follow his hands wondering over the expanse of his muscles, dipping into the grooves of his hips, he kissed the inside of his thigh. “Roll over,” He whispered. His cock jerked hard when Sam did, exposing his back to him, “So pretty Sammy,” Dean growled, his lips landing first on the small of his back, then roaming over the swell of his ass, he bit down lightly on the muscle there, wanting to mark and bruise, and leave proof that this was his, but not yet, so instead he stopped before it could hurt, placed his hands on Sam’s hips and urged him up onto his knees.

Dean spread his cheeks with his thumbs, It was easy to lean forward, easy to run his tongue over the ring of muscle. It was pink and tight, and from the first hesitant lap of his tongue Dean was hooked. The warmth of Sam’s skin, the soft sound of startled pleasure from his lips, Dean needed more, needed to wring the noises, moans and sighs from him.

He started slowly seeing what worked, started with a gentle lapping and listened to the way Sam sighed, and moaned, and shifted his legs slightly apart. Dean put a little more pressure on the rim and felt the soft rocking of Sam’s hips.

“That’s it baby,” Dean whispered, then licked again, starting right against Sam’s balls and moving up past his spit slick hole.

It wasn’t like Dean didn’t know what he was doing, Dean was good at sex, and he knew it. It was a little different; he’d always considered himself straight when he’d been alive, but no one on the planet compared to how hard it hit him When Sam made desperate little noises each time Dean’s tongue tried to push into him.

Dean let go with one hand, worked it between Sam’s spread legs coming up to rub over the hard length of his cock. The noises he made were the best damn thing Dean had ever heard, soft moans, and whines, and gasps and hitched breaths, and he was so quiet that Dean wondered what he would sound like when Dean really had him opened, had him on his cock.

Dean didn’t have to ask to know Sam wasn’t ready for that yet. So instead he continued his soft little licks, hand moving slow and easy up and down Sam’s cock, teasing the head of it before dragging back down to the base every few strokes.

He pulled away long enough to ask, “Feel good?”

Sam nodded against the pillow and Dean figured that was answer enough, he wanted nothing more than to drink in the sight. The pretty way he was flushed, the way his eyes were closed like he couldn’t remember to keep them open, Dean hadn’t noticed before but Sam was practically hiding his face in the crook of his arm, the other bend beneath him on the bed making his pretty ass stand out that much more.

“God Sammy,” Dean sighed against his skin while he leaned over his brother to kiss the side of his mouth. Dean’s crotch pressed against his ass and Sam pressed back against it. “I know you’re not that much of a whore,” Dean whispered. Grinding against the hard flesh, his clothes were constricting, but if he didn’t keep them on, he knew he’d already be balls deep in Sam, and that wasn’t the way he wanted this to go. It wasn’t supposed to be fast and hard, and fucking, he wanted to take his time to make sure to give Sam every ounce of pleasure he could before he took what he wanted.

He moved back down to continue the soft licks into Sam’s body, he let the spit soak into his skin, felt it wet against his cheeks and nose and chin, and felt Sam moving in quick little thrusts into his hand.

“Ever had anything in here?” He whispered letting a fingertip trail around the slick rim.

Sam whined his name, “god, just do something,”

“I’ve been doing something,” Dean argued, then eased just the very tip of his finger past the rim.

The noise from Sam, made him stop, something loud and shocked. “Shh,” Dean whispered, “we haven’t even gotten started yet baby boy.” After rocking his fingers a few seconds Dean pushed forward, letting the digit sink fully in.

Sam didn’t move, Dean could feel how tight, and white hot he was, and how still he was being.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered. “You okay?”

Sam nodded, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Dean let his finger search inside him, teasing along the walls until he found what he was looking for. Sam’s mouth fell open in a soundless moan.

Dean moved carefully and slowly rubbing against that spot and pulling away, just when he noticed the way Sam’s body started trembling just on the edge of cumming. He stopped moving and focused instead on licking around where his finger was pressed into him, focused on just urging the squeezing rim to relax. “Gonna get another in you, okay baby?” Dean whispered, “Just need you to try to relax for me.”

Dean let the second fingertip rub against the rim, he pushed in slowly, and carefully, he wasn’t expecting the way that Sam moved back forcing it into himself in one quick fluid push.

“Fuck Sammy,” Dean gasped, then started moving slowly, trying to work him open, Dean couldn’t think past the noises that Sam made, each one drove him on, made him want more, want to hear how good it felt, how much Sam was enjoying it. Sam was moving back to meet him, and Dean wanted to feel it on his cock, wanted to watch Sam riding him. Nothing else mattered, but getting inside that tight, willing, body.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, “Gonna have to get something, just stay there.”

Dean was off the bed for a second, heard the soft sounds of Sam’s breathy whimper and looked back. He felt the hard bolt of want, before his brain caught up to what he was seeing. Sam picked up where he left off. Fingers stretching and thrusting into himself, with shameless reckless speed. Dean found lube, stripped off his clothes, and went back to the bed, kneeling down and watching, one hand rubbing up and down the lean muscle of Sam’s thigh. He leaned as close as he could get without being in the way, watched those long dexterous fingers disappearing into the stretched pink rim. Sam’s fingers pulled free and Dean leaned forward licking again into him, he forgot about how badly he had needed inside Sam for just a few minutes, his hands prying apart his cheeks, forcing his tongue in and up and swirling around with as much speed and pressure as he could manage, it wasn’t enough, he wanted to eat Sam out and make him cum from it, wanted to lay on his back and let Sam ride his face, wanted to keep hearing those desperate little noises.

He pulled away to catch his breath. Sam whimpered, two fingers sliding back in smoothly. “Yeah Sammy, just like that,” Dean whispered, while pouring lube over his cock, “gonna feel so good.”

He moved behind him, watched the slick wet slide of Sam's’ fingers, and it was the hottest thing he’d seen in a while. Dean grabbed his wrist, stilling the fingers then poured lube over them where they were connected to his body, “rube that in there,” he whispered using his own hand to guide Sam’s movements.

“Last chance to back out,” Dean whispered, “When we do this, there’s no going back.”

“Not backing out,” Sam whispered, and Dean had to stop a moment to stare down at him, sweat shown on the muscles of his back, his hair was dark with it. His skin looked a little too red, but he looked so desperate, Dean wondered how long he’d been wanting this, how long he'd been waiting to ask for it.

Still he was patient, waiting for Dean to show him how good it could be, legs spread, pretty curved ass up in the air. Dean rubbed the head of his cock against the lube slick hole, once to line up, but when Sam whined low and dirty he did it again just to hear that sound again.

His name came out in a high whine and that was enough teasing for both of them.

Dean pushed against the muscle, felt the resistance, then the slow give and sank in the first inch. Sam was still beneath him, but when Dean tried to hold still to give him time to adjust he rolled his hips back, forcing a little more inside. Dean let Sam work it in, one slow shallow roll of his hips at a time until they were flush together.

“Hey Sam,” Dean whispered.

“Yeah,” Sam’s breath came out a ragged sound, that told Dean more than anything he was barely holding together.

“I’m inside you,” Dean said smiling, as he rolled his hips, “All the way.”

Sam started to move.

“No, hey, just wait a minute,” Dean whispered, “Just let me feel this.” Dean wanted to wait until the tension drained out of Sam’s shoulder’s till he relaxed into it. He wasn’t sure how long it’d take Sam to get that message though.

Instead Dean’s hand found Sam’s cock, smearing lube and precum over the head and down the shaft. “So good,” he whispered, “so big, and hard.” He squeezed Sam’s cock then said softly, “but you've got such a tight, hot ass.” He thrust easily into it. And there it was the give he was looking for as Sam got used to being filled and stretched.

Dean started with slow, careful movements. Watching Sam's face as he moved, watching for any sign he wasn't comfortable. “Sammy,” He whispered. He wasn't sure he could put a name to what he was feeling. He felt like he should stop and that he shouldn't be taking advantage of the fact Sam didn't remember what they had been. More than anything though he didn't want to. It felt so good. “You gotta tell me this is okay.” He said, “that this is what you want.”

One moment Dean was looking down at his brother, the next he was on his back, staring up at Sam as he sank back down onto Dean's cock. The throw took him completely off guard. Sam leaned back over him lips latched onto Dean's for a fraction of a second. He moved in slow grinding circles. Not riding but rocking against Dean's cock. “Want this.” He said then bit down on Dean's bottom lip gently before pulling back, “I want you. Just like this.” Dean's hands found their way to his narrow waist holding on as Sam moved on him.

Dean found himself caught up in how good Sam looked riding him. How pretty he was with his skin sweat slick and his hair falling messy around his face. The blush pink lips parted in his pleasure had Dean wanting them on his skin, he wanted to feel them, but he also wanted to taste them. At some point he wanted to see them stretched around the girth of his cock and fuck slow and deep between them.

“What?” Sam asked softly.

“Nothing,” Dean said, then reached up to drag him back down to kiss him. Sam whimpered at the change in angle. Dean stopped trying to get to his lips, instead asking, “are you okay?”

Sam nodded with his eyes squeezed tightly closed. Dean felt the tremble run through his body.

“Are you going to cum?” He asked, mostly surprised how quick he got there.

Sam whined his name and Dean found himself right there with him. Dean held still, held onto the edge of too much pleasure. It shouldn't have felt so good. but god it did.

They held still both breathing hard and hot into the space between them. And then whatever caution held them back broke as they eased off the edge, Dean caught himself half thinking that this moment was why nothing else ever measured up. It was one of the girliest thoughts he'd ever had and he pushed it out of his mind, wasn't hard to do with the way that Sam had found his rhythm and started riding Dean's cock like he had some idea what he was doing.

Dean gave his hands permission to linger wherever they wanted on the miles of skin exposed in front of him.

For a little while nothing else mattered, just the slick wet slide of skin on skin. The sound of their breathing, the soft noises that neither of them could hold in or hold back. When Sam gasped out his name, body going rigid above him Dean was blown away, his back arching up hard off the mattress, while he came.

Sam came in white ribbons across his stomach. Dean wanted nothng more than to watch the bliss play across his face again.

Afterwards Dean couldn't think of anything to say. There wasn't a joke he tell that would lighten the sitation, no, “remember when” he could bring up that sam would actually remember, nothing, but the two fo them laying in a cooling pool of their own sweat, cum drying on Dean's stomach and smeared between his brother's legs.

He tried not to think about that part. Tried not to think about what it meant for his own sexuality. It wasn't men. It was just Sam. Sam with his pretty pink lips, and strong hands, and sarcastic wit. It was just the way that he smiled, and the way that Dean would do anything just to keep him smiling. To never have to see him haunted by their past again.

With some dose of horror Dean realized he was in love with Sam. Not as his brother, as this new blank version. The one who wasn't raised in the back of a car, but forced into existence in the best moments of Dean's memories. The one that was rebuilt by Dean's will and soul and nothing else.

He wasn't the same as he had been, and Dean wished he could love him the same, but he couldn't this was something new, something else. And it didn't help that every memory had Sam in it, the ghost of the past, proving again they weren't the same.

Dean let himself take comfort in the knowledge. The Sam he remembered had been his brother. The one he just made love to was his soulmate. There was a distinction. Even if it was only in his mind.

Sam ran a finger along the middle of his stomach between the muscles there. “Regretting it?” He asked at last and Dean could hear the fear cut under the question.

Sam didn't meet his eyes. Dean hadn't expected him to. He grabbed his face tilted him till Sam was forced to meet his eyes then Dean whispered, “Never.” He let himself kiss and taste the bitten pink lips. Pushed Sam back against the bed and kissed his way down his stomach. Sam tensed quickly when Dean ran his tongue over the tip of his cock cleaning the cum from his slit before urging his legs apart. Dean licked into Sam's body, ignoring the bitter taste of his own cum.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked while his finger's found their way into Dean's hair.

“Saying I love you in Spanish.” Dean answered, “You'd know that if you could remember Spanish.”

Dean hummed like it was the best damn thing he'd ever tasted. Like Sam was an apple pie that he got all to himself and he was starving for the taste. He licked and nibbled and teased until Sam was bucking against his mouth, hand in his hair pulling Dean in closer and harder, as close as he could get.

After he was sure he was thoroughly eaten out Dean moved back up to take the hard cock into his mouth. For a few seconds it was fine and he was enjoying listening to the soft sounds Sam made beneath him while he sucked him off. For a fraction of a second Sam closed his eyes and Dean _remembered_ what he had done. It was like someone flipped a switch. Dean didn't mean for it to happen, didn't mean to shift back through time to the night he decided Sam would be better off Dead than with him. But in that heart beat he was back there. The bunker fading into the half forgotten room. Sam's eyes opened and he looked around in confusion, “where are we?” He asked softly.

Dean was away from him and across the room trying to block the door, trying to keep him from wondering any farther through the memory, “Oh god, Sam I'm sorry.” he whispered.

Sam was looking at him with growing concern, not that Dean could blame him. One second he'd been sucking him off in their bed in the bunker, amid the damp sheets from their love making, and the next he'd been back here, back to this nightmare, to him violating his brother's body while Sam was...he didn't know. Didn't know what his brother was experiencing that year from hell, it wasn't like he could ask.

He wanted to run, wanted to scream, and beg for Sam to forgive him, and confess everything. Instead he grabbed him, “Let's go.” He said gruffly. And they were back in the bunker, dressed because Dean wanted it that way.

“Dean,” Sam said his name softly, concerned, “what was that?”

“Nothing, just a bedroom.” Dean said, “Just part of a memory.”

“So you freaked out because you didn't like the carpet?” Sam asked with a sarcastic twist of his lips, “Come on man, you were kind of in the middle of something before you flipped.”

“Oh, right.” Dean gave him an apologetic smile, “Sorry about that.” Dean walked around the table to his brother, reminded himself again that it didn't matter if Sam was his soulmate he was still his brother, and it was still sick and wrong. He deserved this though, deserved for Sam to use him, if that's what Sam wanted. He sank slowly to his knees on the hard floor and reached for his brother's belt.

Sam caught his hands, “No.” Sam pushed them away, “not like this, not out of some stupid obligation. Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say.” Dean muttered, “I just got caught up in my own head for a minute, remembered the last time, and it threw me.”

“The last time?” Sam's face was twisted with confusion.

“Look, just drop it,” Dean growled, but when had Sam ever listened.

“No.” he said softly, “You're upset, I can tell how much your upset, What did I do?”

“You didn't do anything Sam, it's just me, just my crap. Okay? So don't worry about it, it won't happen again.”

“You think I care about getting interrupted?” Sam said, standing into Dean's space crowding him against the table.

“I care that one second everything was fine, and you had your mouth on me like you were getting paid for it, and the next...” he shrugged, “I've never seen you freak out so hard, about anything.”

“It was just a blow job,” Dean whispered, “I just got caught up in the memory of the last time I gave one, and then you were quiet and it was, I don't know.” He shrugged.

Sam got quiet. His brain working at something Dean wanted to tell him to lay off. But he looked up, “Who was it?”

“What?”

There was a smile creeping across his lips and Dean wanted to punch him. “Who was the last person you sucked off?” Sam said moving to kiss Dean. He twisted out of his grip, “none of your fucking business.” He growled. And shook his head. This was not not at all what he was wanting to deal with. “It's private Sam.”

Sam nodded, then sat down on the edge of the table. Dean was glad to see he was going to let it go.

Dean made it almost out of the room when Sam said, “but you know, there were only two people in that room, you and me.” Dean tried to ignore him, managed to only miss a fraction of a step before Sam added, “You know where I am if you want to talk about it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sometimes Dean hated Sam. It wasn't like he meant to. Just sometimes he was so close to who Dean wanted him to be, that for a little while he'd forget, and he could pretend that Sam was the same. Only Sam never seemed to realize it. He would laugh at a joke that the real Sam would have rolled his eyes at. Or he'd turn the radio up when Sam was constantly turning it down. Or he'd do things just stupid little things that were more Dean than Sam. And Dean hated him for it. For reminding him that most of what Sam was, was a result of Dean pouring his own soul into his brother to fill in the cracks. To smooth over those broken edges.

He hated him, because he wasn't what he should have been.

But as much as he hated him. He always loved him more. It burned through him, the adoration, the devotion, the constant need to see him happy and smiling, and warm and safe. It was the driving force behind Dean's entire life. Take care of Sam.

Sure most of his life he had thought he was acting on orders. But he knew better now, now that he could go back and look at all those little moments laid bare, their painful truth open for him to revisit and think about and pick apart, he could see it. Even then. When he was a silent, brokenhearted 5 year old clinging to his baby brother, he could see the adoration, the devotion. There was no turning point for him, Sam was his life, for all his life, not because he was told to. But because of what Sam was to him.

It hurt now to see it, to know how much they had missed because they didn't know. Even after they found out, even after they were told, there was never the need to act on it. Now though, now that Dean had this new Sam writhing beneath him. Now that he'd heard the way he sighed Dean's name when Dean had him fucked out sleepy. Now that he felt the way that he hung onto Dean's shoulder's, his nails digging gouges into his back, while Dean thrust deep and fast into him. Now that Dean knew what it was like having his soulmate as his lover, he couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like before.

If they had considered the possibility before everything had gone to hell how would that have changed things?

Maybe if they had recognized the potential, maybe if they understood why they couldn't live without each other, maybe it never would have gotten to the point it did. It was stupid to spend his time wondering about it.

It was worse that sometimes he imagined how his brother would have been different. If Sam would have been so eager for Dean to fuck him, if he had been the stubborn, aggressive hunter that Dean remembered.

This new sam wasn't aggressive, he was patient, he was stubborn, but he wasn't a fighter. Not the way that Dean's brother had been. Dean couldn't help but wonder how they would have been different, if Sam had been able to remember their shared past. 

He knew the answer though, his sam, the brother he lost, would have never let Dean touch him. He would have been to concerned with the morality of it. Too something. Dean knew, he just knew there was no way that Sam would be okay with it if he knew what Dean was doing to the person that he'd become In some ways it was like the first time. Sam wasn't able to comprehend what Dean was doing, and Dean was using him just the same.

It would have been easier to hate himself for it, if the new Sam didn't look at him, with hunger and adoration half the time. If he didn't follow Dean's lead without question, he might have a harder time with it.

Sam as he had been was gone. Never coming back. A memory strewn throughout Dean's heaven and out of existence everywhere else. And Dean was in love with someone who looked like him, and sounded like him, and talked like him, but it wasn't the same. So Dean hated him.

He wondered what it would have been like if he could compare them, if he knew how Sam would have done things before. If he knew how close or how off the new one was. It was something that he spent too much of his time wondering about.

Dean had found his way to one of the more common memories he revisited. Sam reading in the bunker. He felt the soft press of lips at the back of his neck when his lover joined him. He growled and dean let his eyes close as he moved away, before taking a drink the same beer he'd finished a thousand time's before.

There was a soft hesitation in his voice, when Sam asked, “are you missing him?”

Dean nodded, there was no reason to lie about it, sometimes he just missed the way things were.

Dean felt the tug in his hair and his face was tilted up into a rough kiss. “I'm sure he misses you to.

“Sam,” Dean wasn't sure where he was going with it, stop being stupid came to mind but he didn't voice it. There was a scrap of one of the chairs being pulled away from the table. And then Sam was disappearing, crawling underneath it. “What are you doing?” Dean finally asked, not that he really need to know.

“Scootch.” Sam grumbled pushing on the chair until Dean slid it back a little farther from the table.

“Better,” He whispered, “Needed more room to work.” Dean felt the hand at his jeans tugging them open then down. It was so easy to just let him do what he wanted, so easy to just not think anymore when Sam swallowed around his cock, driving him a little crazier.

“Sammy,” He groaned and was answered with a soft hum of vibration against his cock. Dean felt weird about the situation, weird that he was being sucked off sitting at the table with his little brother, even if it was technically his little brother that was sucking him off. He found himself unable to look at the memory, blushing to hard, feeling to exposed, and there was no reason for it, he knew it. But still, it was different. This wasn't something for him to tease his brother about, so it really wasn't something he was comfortable with.

At least that's what he told himself when through half closed eyes he found himself focused on the pink curve of his brother's mouth. The mouth that was currently wrapped around his cock. Dean couldn't help but wonder when he'd been alive, when he'd been the one that Dean remembered, did he know how to do this? Did he know that he could drive a man insane with those pussy pink lips? Dean should have expected it when his eyes lifted, and it felt like they locked on Dean, for just a second it felt like he was seen, and understood, that Sam knew what he was doing. Then he bit his lip and went back to reading, it didn't matter Dean was so close to cumming he had to stop, he pulled at the soft hair against his thigh, pulling Sam away from him. “Come on baby, you gotta stop” He whispered, “you're gonna make me cum.” 

Sam moved off him easily, crawled out from under the table and started letting layers of clothes fall away leaned against the edge of the table. “Want to take this to the bedroom?” Dean asked running a hand up the corded muscle of his thigh.

“No,” Sam said, turning to pat the table, “right here's good for me.”

Dean stood up managed to crowd into his space to kiss him, his hard cock pressing against Sam's. Dean dragged a small desperate sound from him when he wrapped his hand around their cocks and rubbed slowly down the length.

Sam pushed him away, turned around and bent awkwardly over the table.

“Fuck Sammy,” Dean groaned, rubbing his cock against him, teasing before he managed to get lined up.

Sam pushed back, letting Dean slid smoothly into him. There was a moment where nothing else mattered but the tight squeeze of that pretty ass around his cock. Dean watched in half amazement as Sam studied the memory while being filled with Dean's cock.

“What are you thinking?” Dean asked, seeing the wheels turn.

“How long were we together?” Sam asked and the question caught him off guard.

“Pretty much since the day dad put you in my arms.” Dean said, “you know that Sam, you know when we were were apart.”

“Not like that,” He said pushing back quickly, “like this, how long were we together, before what happened.”

Dean's problem wasn't that he didn't understand the question, it was just that he didn't understand why Sam would ask something like that.

“We weren't,” he said, “He was just my brother.”

Dean thought that he'd let it go, especially considering what they were doing, then there was a soft sound, “You still don't think we're the same.”

“Don't,” Dean whispered.

“Okay,” Sam whispered, “but I want to try something, if it works, don't freak out.” Sam thrust back a little urging Dean deeper inside him. Then stretched out his arm just far enough to shove the book off the table. The sound of the cardboard sliding across the tile had Dean holding his breath. Never once had Sam tried to mess with one of Dean's memories, but now, with them both exposed and vulnerable, dean felt the urge to tell him to stop whatever it was he was thinking about doing, before he did something they couldn't take back.

Dean held his tongue though. Something was happening. The memory version of Sam had stopped moving, stopped going through the motions of reading. Dean could see the way that Sam was focused all his attention there, and not on the way that Dean was buried inside him.

Dean watched the way he dragged the unresistant hand to his lips, mouth opening to take in two long digits the way that he had swallowed around Dean's cock under the table.

Dean felt the sensation of his skin crawling. Sam closed his eyes and moaned slightly around the digits when Dean thrust in deeper. The head turned in slow motion like it was on rusted over hinges, the version of his brother that Dean had always thought nothing more than a memory was looking somewhere he'd never looked before. His eyes locked on the place where his finger's disappeared into those pretty cock sucking lips.

There was no light behind them, blank as death, but he had reacted.

Dean started to pull out, to back up and put an end to whatever the hell was going on. Sam whimpered low and soft, mouth still full Dean looked down at him, heard his brother's voice whisper, “Stay,” and almost jumped out of his skin.

Dean was half way into getting to his pants when a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him up short, “wait Dean,” Sam whispered, the new Sam the one whose lips were still glossy with spit, and whose hard cock was still pressing up straining for attention.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked, a twisting panicked feeling kept pushing him to put distance between them. If Sam saw what they were doing, if he understood. Then how would dean ever explain it.

“Dean it's just me.” Sam said softly, “I got it figured out.” Dean felt the soft touch on his arm, and jumped, the other version had moved had gotten up and walked around the table and Dean hadn't noticed because he'd been to focused on the one in front of him.

“It's okay, Dean,” the voice whispered, lips pressed against his neck. He stood frozen, for a second, too shocked to give into the sudden overwhelming urge to start swinging. The memory, the ghost that had done nothing but play on repeat was moving, and talking, and saying words that weren't in the script and it was freaking Dean the fuck out.

Sam was still in front of him, his naked body pressed against Dean's while he let his lips find the opposite side of Dean's neck. Dean felt trapped, too much, too much, and too much. The hand that was stroking down his back probably had him the most weirded out, it was too absent minded too much like a thoughtless action.

“How?” He asked finally shaking free of both of them. Moving to the opposite side of the table, his shirt held in front of him like he could hide behind it.

Sam shrugged. The other one, the one that shouldn't be moving at all was looking at Dean. “what the hell is he? He's suppose to be a memory.”

“He was.” Sam said, “Your memory of me, I told you, I've been trying to figure out how to be him.” There was a pause and the other spoke, “I guess I finally figured it out.”

“Okay, I can't deal with this, whatever the hell you're doing. Stop. I'm going back to my room, and when you come back, you better have some damn clothes on and be ready to explain what the hell just happened.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean didn't have to wait long for Sam to find his way to their room. He was surprised to see the anger on his brother's face. Not only because Sam rarely looked pissed off about anything, but because Dean couldn't figure out what he had to be pissed off about. It was Dean that he'd just tried to spring an impromptu threesome on, with himself, of all fucking people.

Dean was still a little freaked if he were being honest. The feeling of Sam's hands on him, not the new mindless version, the other one, the one that had done nothing but repeat since they got here, that was too much, that was his fucking brother, and it didn't matter how Sam had figured it out, it wasn't something he should have even considered, it definitely wasn't something he should have been messing with. It was Dean's memory he was messing with.

“What were you thinking?” Dean said, as soon as Sam was through the door.

“I don't know, Dean, maybe I thought that's what you've been wanting.” Sam was crowding into his space but Dean held his ground, letting his frustration and anger simmer beneath the surface. “I thought you wanted me back, the way that I was before, but you lie to me, you hide things from me, you get pissed off when I finally do get it figured out, so tell me, what the fuck do you actually want from me?”

Dean didn't mean for it to happen. He felt the anger coiling in him and his fist was swinging before he could stop it. Felt the solid contact. It came as naturally to him as breathing. “Shut your fucking mouth.” he screamed it. “Damn it Sam, I told you. You're not him.”

Dean took a step back fist still clenched waiting for Sam to strike back. Instead he wiped the blood from his split lip. Looked between it and Dean and smiled slightly, “You sure about that?”

Dean didn't follow him, if anything he was kind of glad for the space, it wasn't like Sam could get far from him anyways, their worlds were a little too connected for that. Sam just didn't get it. Didn't understand what it was like. Dean had lost everything when he lost his brother, and he had gotten use to it. In a way he never thought he'd be able to. But that memory that was private, or if not private, it was personal. It was dean's brother at that table, and he had twisted it, turned it into something that it never had been. Sam would never have touched Dean like that. And the person that he'd been would have known that. So not only did he fuck with Dean's memory, but he intentionally twisted the relationship Dean had with his brother.

It was wrong. It was so fundamentally wrong on so many levels. And Sam would have gotten it. This one though, this one just didn't get things the way his had.

Dean felt the pull to him felt how far away he must have gone. Dean fought the urge to follow him, to ease some of the worried pressure that he always got when he didn't know where Sam was. It was fine, it wasn't like there was anything here that could hurt him.

It was okay.

Dean managed to convince himself he wasn't going out of his mind for what felt like a week. He forced himself to wait until he just couldn't wait for another second. Finding Sam was easy.

  
  


Dean knew something was wrong immediately. When he showed up Sam was sitting on the edge of a bed in a nameless hotel. He looked up when Dean appeared, then back at the mottled carpet.

“Sam?” Dean wasn't sure what he was asking.

There was a snort of laughter, bitter and humorless. “Yeah?” He said quietly. “What do you want Dean?”

“You coming back home anytime soon?” Dean wasn't sure at what point he'd started missing him, but now he hurt with how long they'd been apart. “Could use the company.”

Sam nodded, then stood up, he moved toward him slowly, getting as close to Dean as he could. His hand rested in the curve of Dean's hip and his breath was hot against Dean's lips, he didn't kiss him, instead he pulled up just enough to whisper, “Where's the rest of me?” In Dean's ear, the words sent a shiver down Dean's spine, some threat buried underneath the words he couldn't quite place but held a thrill of promise just the same.

Dean didn't answer and Sam grew impatient. The hand on his side gripped hard and Dean found himself shoved hard, back against the wall. Sam breathing against his skin, searching his face for something Dean couldn't answer. He felt like he'd forgotten the question, or maybe like he'd never understood it to begin with. “Dean,” he whispered, the sound a sigh and something else, some soft question that Dean couldn't deal with. Sam's teeth nipped at his neck. “I'm still missing some pieces.” he whispered, “because You're still hiding things from me.” Sam was kissing him one second and the next Dean was facing the wall. Sam's arm across his shoulder's pressing him against the plaster. One hand came around to tug at the button of his jeans.

“That's it” Sam whispered, “this is what you really wanted isn't it?” Dean wasn't sure what had gotten into him, but Sam was shoving his hand past the elastic band. Dean moaned softly when his hand wrapped around his cock. He was use to Sam being eager, but the raw edge to his anger was something new. Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall against the cool wall. Sam held him still hand working in the tight space. Sam pulled his hand away from Dean's crotch long enough to work his jeans down his hips and onto the floor, They pooled around his ankles in a tangled mess. It was okay, he wasn't really intending on moving much anyways. Sam's hand was back stroking him with a fast demanding pace that had Dean panting hard, his eyes squeezed shut tight enough colored sparks were erupting across his vision.

Sam kissed the back of his neck, the weight of his body keeping Dean where he was, while his hand slipped down to Dean's waist, it stayed there a minute, then roamed lower, fingertips slipping between Dean's cheeks. Spreading them apart just enough for one fingertip to trail along the rim there.

“Sam,” Dean had no idea what he was doing, well he knew, but Sam had never once ventured to explore Dean the way that Dean had done with him. He wasn't telling him to stop though, just confused and curious as to what he was thinking.

“Do you love me?” Sam whispered his teeth again nipping along the muscle of Dean's shoulder.

“You know I do.” Dean whispered, “Love you more than anything.”

“I'm going to fuck you.” Sam said, like it wasn't even a question. Like he was telling dean that grass was green and water was wet. The fingertip slipped past the ring of muscle and Dean wasn't expecting it, his body jerked from the unexpected stretch, and the jolt of pleasure that had his toes curling into his socks.

“Sam,” Dean groaned his name when the second finger roughly followed the first, spit slick and burning.

Sam bit down lightly on the side of his neck, “You can take it.” Sam whispered. “Come on Dean, open up for me.”

Dean bit down hard on his lip to keep the sounds he was making muffled, his hips tilted back, leg's pushed farther apart by Sam's knee pushing up between them. If he could see himself he might die from embarrassment. He thought absently.

“Like this don't you baby?” Sam asked, “not having to do anything,, just opening right up for your little brother's finger's.”

Dean didn't bother responding. He knew Sam was just trying to piss him off. Just using those stupid two words to try to make him react. His body spoke for him, legs straining farther apart, trying to rock back on the fingers spearing him open.

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, still kissing down the back of his neck, “that's what I thought,” he said twisting his fingers in roughly. Dean felt the jolt of pleasure and his mouth fell open.

Dean almost lost his balance when Sam moved away from him. Then Sam was back holding him up, he grabbed Dean's hands and guided them to the wall, “Don't move,” He said and Dean wanted to ask what he was doing, then Sam was moving, the soft thunk of his knees hitting the carpet behind him and Dean felt the heat of his hands gripping the globes of his ass, pulling them apart, exposing him to Sam. Sam's tongue was inside him before Dean's brain caught up with what he was doing. It was fast, wet and Sam was making hungry noises against his skin. Dean was doing everything he could just to keep his balance. Sam stopped as abruptly as he had started. Dean heard him fumbling first with the belt he was wearing then the zipper on his jeans.

Dean tried not to think, they hadn't really talked about this. It wasn't really that Dean cared, he just wasn't expecting it, and Sam hadn't acted like he wanted anything different. But then dean had pretty much taken the lead in the bedroom. Dean felt the spit slick tip of his cock pressing against his rim. He fought against the instinct to tense, tried to just let Sam slip inside, Sam moved slowly, pressing in until Dean was pretty sure he was going to rupture something, Sam was too big, too thick, it fit into him, too deeply. He couldn't breath.

Sam made a strangled noise and Dean felt the hard slide out then back deep inside.

“Fuck, Sammy, go slow.” Dean said, breathing hard.

Dean didn't have a chance to think beyond that when Sam was pushing his face cheek first against the wall with one hand on his shoulder. Dean could feel Sam watching where they were connected.

“Tell me it doesn't get you off.” Sam said between thrusts.

“What?” Dean asked not knowing which part that he was talking about.

“Incest,” Sam whispered, his lips brushing against Dean's jaw, “you won't admit it, but you really do like how much I reminded you of your brother.” He smiled, “come on Dean, you can admit it. I'm your soulmate aren't I?” He whispered, “You knew what that meant, You built me to look like your baby brother, knowing that we were meant for this.”

“No,” Dean whispered, “You were suppose to be him.”

“But you're the one that made it so clear there's a difference.” Sam whispered words coming out like a lash. “I mean, look at you Dean, so close to cumming just from having my dick inside you.” He laughed, “it's built for you, you know.” He pushed in a quick hard thrust, “just made to fill you up and fuck you senseless. It's what you wanted right?” Dean couldn't think straight.

“Tell me the truth Dean, how long have you wanted to fuck your brother.”

“Shut up,” Dean growled, there was no sincerity behind it, he was so fucking close to cumming. If Sam would just stop talking like that, talking about him like that, then maybe Dean could get there.

“That's it,” Sam whispered, thrusts growing slightly more erratic, he moved with him, chasing after his own orgasm. Sam's hand wrapped around his cock. hand stroking hard against Dean's cock.

Dean was hit with the absurd notion this wasn't about sex anymore. Sam was pissed off at him about Something. Sam was using this twisted thing that Dean had to punish him.

“Sam,” Dean gasped feeling the hard squeeze against the base of his cock.

“That's it,” he said again, his teeth nipping at Dean's ear, “let me hear you say my name when you cum.” a few quick strokes later he said, “go ahead, cum for your little brother.”

It was twisted, it was wrong, but god the words were like a live wire through him. Sam worked him through it, worked him till he was whimpering from being over sensitive. Sam pulled out of him and moved dragging Dean to the bed, He laid down on it and urged Dean up on his knees straddling him. Dean cried out in an unexpected mix of pleasure and pain when his brother's hard cock forced past the sore rim.

“Ride me Dean.” Sam ordered. Dean had one hand on Sam's thigh for balance and rocked his hips just enough to make some friction. Sam let encourage and praises fall from his lips, Dean ignored how sore he was getting, how his cock was starting to respond to the stimulation, ignored everything but getting Sam off. He was frustrated how long Sam was holding out, but then Sam had always been a stubborn son of a bitch.

Sam was watching him, watching every move Dean made with a hungry intensity that made him squirm. It wasn't until Dean found himself again on his back underneath him that Dean finally let himself think about what he had said. “Cum for me Sammy,” He whispered, “know you gotta be close.” He said rolling his hips up to meet Sam's rough thrusts.

Sam rested his forehead against dean's, slowing until he was barely moving. His mouth was falling open and his hair was in Dean's face. Dean closed his eyes, felt the trembling through Sam's shoulder's where his hands were resting. The sound Sam made when he came was unlike any of them Dean had heard before. A sound that sounded almost as much pain as pleasure.

Sam moved almost immediately after the sound died away. He was up and pulling on his clothes without saying a word. Dean lay a hand on his back. “Sammy,” Dean started to say something, to ask him where he was going, to ask him what the sudden rough sex was about. Sam didn't shrug his hand off, Instead he looked over his shoulder studying Dean's face like he was trying to figure out a particularly complex problem. ““I'm not your brother. Stop calling me that.”

before Dean could stutter out an answer Sam jerked his jeans back on. He was still pulling on his shirt when he disappeared through the door without waiting for Dean's answer.

Dean lay for a while staring at the ceiling, the same pattern as always above him. He closed his eyes, and waited for Sam to come back. He waited until the silence around him grew to the point he was afraid to break it.

It wasn't until he felt the tear rolling down his face, that he realized he was crying. Silently weeping into the darkness, from a pain he couldn't put a name to. Something happened. He didn't know what, but somehow Sam had figured out how twisted and sick he was, and he'd punished him for it. Sam had fucked him then left him lying in sheets soaked with his own sweat, cum leaking out of him, and his heart breaking. It was weird knowing it, even as he was surrounded by the evidence. Even while he was still feeling the phantom of being stretched open around a cock. It seemed surreal. Like something he dreamed. But he couldn't stop thinking it. Sam knew.


	11. Chapter 11

It was quiet. Dean was drunk. Everything was right in Dean's life. Or afterlife as it actually was. He wasn't a little drunk either. He'd passed a little drunk six half remembered bars ago. He passed absolutely shit faced about the third time he had to find a different bar, because the him in the past had went home with a girl. The problem was finding memories that didn't have Sam in them. The beer was always cold, and the food was always good, but Dean was doing his damnedest to not even remember Sam existed.

He felt him, a constant ache, a pull toward wherever he was hiding, but Dean wasn't the one that left. Sam didn't want him, he'd made it clear when he walked out, when he hadn't come back. Dean knew he had screwed it up, but he didn't know how.

It was probably better. The problem of course was he was drunk. And this bar had Sam in it. Because Dean forgot to avoid memories that had Sam in them. It didn't matter, he wanted to drink and it wasn't like Sam was going to say anything to him anyways, he'd talk to the Dean that had been, and Dean could ignore it.

He sat down across from his brother, at a forgotten table, and stared at his brother. It wasn't like Sam would notice him staring. Dean wasn't sure when this memory was from. It didn't matter. He picked up the beer from the table and downed most of it.

“your fault.” He said, the words slurred badly. He laid his head on the table, trying to make the world stop spinning. “You weren't suppose to go.” He was pretty sure he meant when Sam left him alone in the bedroom, but now that the words were out, he meant them in so many different ways. “was suppose to be me and you against the world, like forever forever, and you left me.” He sniffled into his shirt sleeve. His eyes burned and his throat hurt.

There was silence, the fog in his brain seemed to be bleaching the memory, the bar had faded into a gray mist, he was pretty sure at some point There'd been music playing, but now he couldn't make out anything, but the sound of his own sobbing breaths. He forced himself to look back at the memory of his brother, back at the dimpled smile, back before Dean had become this sick twisted version of himself.

“You were my whole world,” he choked on the words, “I was suppose to keep you safe.” He tried not to remember how badly he'd failed at that, how many times he'd failed.

Dean was somewhere between awake and unconscious when he heard Sam's voice through his drunken daze. “It's okay Dean, I've got you.” He sounded so good, it didn't matter if it was a memory, or a dream Dean smiled slightly, grateful for the comfort of his brother. Even if it wasn't real

“Miss you,” he said meaning it more than he'd ever meant anything, letting himself believe for just a minute that it was really Sam he was talking to. Not a memory, or a copy, or a dream. Just let himself pretend for a few minutes.

“Missed you to,” Sam's voice said, and Dean was crying again.

“Love you Sammy,” He whispered, slurred the words and kept going, “sorry I wasn't better.” He said. “Sorry I couldn't keep you safe.”

“Alright,” Sam said, appeasing him, dean could hear the smile in his voice, “come on, let's get you somewhere to lay down.”

“Can't.” Dean said, “floors spinning too much for me to walk.”

“If you can't walk, just hold still, I'll carry you.” Dean felt the way his brother's arm wound around his waist, supporting his weight,

Dean grinned, laughing stupidly leaning into the touch, “can't carry me Sammy.” He said his voice taking on a dramatically sad note. He started pulling way.

“Why the hell not?”

“You're not real.” Dean said his voice a conspirators whisper. “'s okay, I can stay here, I'll be somewhere else when I wake up.”

“Dean, come on, let me take you home.”

“am home,” Dean said shaking his head, “it's all home, bars, diners, gas stations....he gestured around vaguely,” all home.” He turned back to the table, “side's I don't have home anymore.”

Time skipped on him, Dean woke up on his bed. The last hum of alcohol in his veins. He guessed that was one of the good things about being dead, he didn't have to worry about alcohol poisoning. Hang overs, were pretty much non-existent, and if he had to bet money, he'd say drinking only worked because he wanted it to.

He got the strongest urge to go find Sam. He pushed it down. It didn't matter if he went and found him, it wasn't the same. He wasn't Sam anymore. Dean knew that. Knew it better than anyone.

If he had been, then Dean never would have touched him. He wouldn't have been able to use the stupid idea of him being Dean's soulmate to convince Dean it would be okay. It wasn't okay.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said, pulling him out of his own thoughts.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked climbing out of the bed. “The world ending again?”

Cas didn't answer for a long time, he was watching Dean with a sad half sympathetic look. “Are you okay?” He asked finally.

“Peachy,” Dean answered irritated, “just wondering why you dropped by.”

“I heard a prayer,” Cas said, “It seemed urgent.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, that's probably worse than a drunk dial right?”

“It wasn't your prayer.” Cas said, still giving him the same appraising look. Dean felt a touch of pained suspicion.

Dean heard the soft knock at the door, looked past Cas to see Sam leaning against the frame. Dean couldn't believe he was back, couldn't believe that he'd finally come back around. Still he didn't want to say anything, didn't want to ask him what he was doing or why.

Dean heard his brother's name fall from the angel's lips, Cas was across the room standing inches from him in a heartbeat. Sam stepped backward out into the hall, his hands coming up defensively.

Dean saw the way Cas' shoulder's fell, saw the tension in the way Sam was standing, a look somewhere between mistrust and fear on his face.

“It's okay,” Dean said breaking the silence, trying to put him at ease, “It's just Cas. He's a friend.”

Cas held out his hand, “It's nice to see you again,” he said softly.

Sam looked from his hand to Cas, and back to Dean before he shook it hesitantly.

“Sorry Cas. We don't exactly get much company here.” Dean said apologizing for the weirdness. Then saw the look the Sam was giving Cas. “You okay Sam?” Dean tried to keep his voice steady.

Sam nodded without answering. “It's okay, you can go do whatever, me and the angel are going to talk for a while.” Sam left quietly.

Cas didn't say anything for a while. Dean waited, fighting the urge to fill in the silence, “What are you doing here Cas?”

“I told you, I heard a prayer. I couldn't believe it.” He looked at the door, “he looks good all things considered.”

“He's okay,” Dean said, “He's not Sam, not the way that he was.” Dean didn't know how to say it, “it's like I got part of him back, but all I can see are the ways he's not the same.”

“Give him time,” Cas said, “what he's been through.”

“Don't give me that crap.” Dean said rolling his eyes, “he doesn't even remember what he's been through. You can't be traumatized by what you don't remember.”

“Dean,” Cas was going to start lecturing him. Dean knew it as soon as he opened his mouth.

“No.” he interrupted, “no. Sam is my problem, not yours. He's fine Cas. Really.”

“He's fine?” Cas asked, his eyes locking onto Dean's. “When was the last time you looked at him?”

“It's been a little while, we had a disagreement, he'll get over it.” Dean wasn't about to explain to Cas what they had been arguing about. .

Cas turned on him, fury blazing in the blue depths of his eyes. “He's not fine Dean. Have you looked at him since you fought with him?”

“We didn't fight, he just left. And he's the one that's been avoiding me. I have no idea what he was even doing here just now. It's the first time he's been around in weeks.”

“What did you fight about?” Cas asked at last.

“None of your damn business,” Dean asked voice dropping low and dangerous, “we fought, he'll get over it.”

“probably,” Cas agreed. “Will you?”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean asked, “I'm fine.”

“That's why he wants to leave?” Cas asked. He hesitated while Dean tried to process what that even meant before continuing, “Dean I'm not sure I should tell you, but I think you should know, Sam prayed to be taken somewhere else.”

The words were like ice through him. “He can't leave.” Dean said, the words coming out more desperately than he meant them. Sam couldn't leave. They were soulmates, they were meant to share their heaven. If they fought, then it was okay as long as Sam was here, then whatever it was they could move past. If he left then Dean would be alone. He couldn't do that. He just couldn't.

“I'm sorry,” Cas said, “but it's his choice.”

“No.” Dean said without letting him finish, “you're not taking him from me.”

“Dean,” the sympathy in his voice cut through him, “this is out of my hands.”

“He doesn't understand, I can't protect him if he leaves, if the angel's or reapers, or someone who does remember who he was try to come after him, he won't know how to protect himself, he won't be safe.”

“I'll keep him safe.” Cas promised, “but this is what Sam asked for, after everything he's done, he deserves to get what he asks for.”

“Cas I can't do this without him,” Dean wasn't going to let him go. It didn't matter what Cas said, Sam belonged with him. Sam was his. His soulmate, his best friend, his only companion. He couldn't let him go.

“Can I talk to him first? Please? Just let me talk some sense into him, I've done it before.” Dean didn't know what he'd say, but there had to be something, something he could say to make him understand that it was going to get better, he'd do better. Sam didn't have to leave him.

“Of course,” Cas said, “but the choice, when it comes down to it is Sam's.” It shouldn't have made Dean more uncomfortable, but it did.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean found Sam sitting on the hood of the car, staring over a sun sparkling river.

“Sam?” Dean tried to get his attention walking toward him. Sam looked up from him out over the water, the expression on his face unreadable to anyone else. To Dean there was a hundred different things playing out there.

“I guess he told you?” Sam asked reaching for a beer out of their cooler.

Dean nodded, took the beer and sat down next to him. “Don't leave me.” He said at last, “I know, I haven't been handling this right, or well, or whatever, but I can't do this without you.”

Sam listened to him in silence, it drove Dean crazy not to get a response from him. “Please Sam, just give me another chance, I swear I'll fix this, I promise, just don't leave me alone.”

“You're not alone,” Sam said at last, “you've got your brother's memory to keep you company,”

“It's not the same.” Dean said, “it's not, it's just a memory, it doesn't talk to me or laugh at me, or anything, I need you here or I'm going to lose my mind.”

“Dean, you don't even want me here.” He said at last, “you never did, you just put up with me hoping to get him back.”

“That's not true,” Dean had given up on getting Sam as he had been back a long time ago. Sometimes it still tore him apart that he couldn't save him, but he still loved the person that he'd become.

“I had a busted lip that says otherwise.” Sam said, “I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore.”

“Sammy please, we've been through so much worse than this, please you can't leave me now, not after everything.” Dean was trying so hard to get through to him, he just didn't want to hear it. Dean saw the look harden on his brother's face, saw the set to his jaw, he was angry again, Dean didn't know why.

“You think that's going to work on me?” Sam asked, “You think I'm going to stay because he always stayed?” He laughed a bitter sound, “it doesn't work that way Dean. You don't get to pick when I'm your brother and when I'm not.”

“Okay, I'm sorry. I was wrong and obviously you are my brother, and I never should have said that stuff, I'm sorry Sam. Please please just don't leave.”

There was silence between them, the longer it stretched out the more Dean was sure he'd lost him, that he'd waited too long.

“I loved you, you know,” Sam said softly. Dean felt the air go out of him, just like that it was over, after everything Sam was leaving, was going to have Cas take him somewhere else and Dean would never get to hear him, or see him, or talk to him again.

He opened his mouth but the words stuck in the back of his throat. What could he even say to that? “Sammy please,” he finally managed to say, no longer managing to hold back his tears.

Sam slid off the car and picked up a smooth rock. It arched across the open water, skimming the surface before sinking down into the dark beneath the sunny reflection.

“It's nice here,” He said at last, looking up from the rock he was checking the weight of. Dean could see the gears turning in his mind, whatever he was thinking Dean was going to have to let him get through it, otherwise he would just leave. Dean watched Sam, watching the water. The light in his hair made it shine almost as bright as the water. His shirt sleeves were rolled up showing the thick vein in his forearm. Dean drank in the sight of him. Committing one more moment to memory. One more thing to replay. One last new memory of Sam, before he left Dean forever.

The water faded into the familiar brick walls of the bunker. Cas was waiting, he looked between them, his mouth a hard line but his eyes held just a little hopefulness. Dean shook his head and watched the expression fall away. Still he smiled at Sam, “Ready to go?”

Dean caught the slight half smile, and the shake of his head. He hoped that it meant what he thought it meant. “Ready as I'll ever be.” Sam said and exhaled roughly. He looked at Dean, said his name once and moved toward him. Dean didn't react to the soft press of his lips, shocked that Sam would even do it in front of Cas.

“Bye Dean,” Sam whispered, his eyes glittered wetly under the lights.

Cas put his hand on Sam's arm, Their eyes met, Dean saw Sam nod to the angel. Saw them both look at him, and Cas gave him a sad smile. In a blink they were gone. Dean stared at the place they had been for a long time, his eyes burned from the tears he had cried, he felt nothing when he felt for the familiar bond to Sam.

It felt like he'd had his heart ripped out, and he couldn't think beyond the pain of it. He had to get Sam back, no matter what it took, Sam couldn't leave him.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean learned the hard way some stories don't get happy endings. He learned it for the first time when he was four, sitting on his daddy's car while his world burned down around him.

He relearned it after Sam left. He found himself more than once sitting next to his brother, talking to the form that never talked back, and wishing he had both of them back. He'd lost him not once but twice.

Once because of Sam's recklessness and once because he couldn't accept that he was in love with him. The knowledge made him want to crawl into a hole somewhere and never come out. Sam was gone, and Dean had been in love with him, maybe he still was. If the unending ache was any indicator. He needed to know he was safe, needed to know that where ever Sam had ended up he was happy. He needed to know Cas kept his promise to look out for him.

Cas shouldn't be the one looking out for Sam. That was Dean's job, his responsibility, and his purpose. That was the reason Dean existed. To take care of Sam. Dean just had to figure out where Sam was, and then he could go get him, make him see that Dean couldn't live without him. He could make him come back. He just had to find him first.

The only problem with that idea was no one seemed to be answering his calls. Like he was completely cut off from the anyone that would help him find Sam. Cas answered his calls of course, came and sat with him, and talked to him, but as soon as he started asking about Sam, Cas would refuse to answer, gave vague promises that he was safe, and made excuses to leave.

Maybe the idea should have come to him sooner, but it was the kind of thing he normally wouldn't have even considered. Too touchy feelings crap for him. Too close to admitting his own desperation. He needed Sam back more than he needed anything in his life.

Sam wasn't just his soulmate, he was walking around with part of Dean's soul. It was killing him for them to continue to stay apart. It took some doing but Dean managed to remember the symbol that Ash had taught him, managed to draw it onto one of the doors. If he got lost he might not make it back to his own heaven. He didn't know for sure that wherever he ended up would be closer to Sam but he had to hope that the pull between them was still working. That whatever they were to each other would be enough to lead him back to wherever Sam was. Dean took a last look at the bunker, the place that had been home at the end of his life. Swallowed against the nerves in his stomach and stepped through the door. Leaving his empty heaven behind.

\----

Dean had been through a hundred doors, possibly more, moving continually. It didn't take him very long to figure out he had almost no control over where the doors he opened went.

For the most part the places he went through seemed empty. He rarely ran into anyone. Though on occasion when someone caught him, he'd mutter, “maintenance,” pretend to be checking the pipes and slip out through the first doorway he could open. The ache that he thought was leading him toward Sam never changed, never lessened, or gave a sign he was pointing in the right direction.

It took him longer than he wanted to admit that maybe his genius plan hadn't been as brilliant as he had hoped.

He was in the process of drawing the symbol to slip through the next door when it opened, “There you are.” Ash said, “What are you doing?”

“Finger painting. What's it look like I'm doing?” Dean asked irritated.

Dean followed him through the door. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights of the bar. When they cleared he stood still staring at the familiar breadth of Sam's shoulder's.

Dean wasn't sure if he was welcome or not until Sam slid a beer in front of the stool next to him. He didn't look back at him, but Dean knew Sam was aware he was there. Dean took the spot that Sam had saved for him, rubbed at the condensation on the glass and waited for Sam to say something.

It was a long time before he did, not bothering to look at Dean, “you weren't in your heaven.”

“Our Heaven.” Dean corrected him, “and don't give me that, neither were you.”

Dean could have kicked himself watching the way his shoulder's slumped a little more, the beer apparently taking all of his focus. “I'm assuming you wanted to talk to me?” Dean said, “so talk.”

“Not here,” Sam said looking at him, The was something laid bare in the look, some desperation for Dean to understand.

“Alright, not here. You want to finish that? We'll talk at home?”

“I'm finished.” Sam said pushing the still full glass away from him. He stood up abruptly.

“Woah, slow down let me get finished at least.”

“Dean,” Sam said his name, looking at him with that same raw look, “I'm sorry.”

“Isn't that my line?” Dean said, “I mean you were mad at me not the other way around.” He downed what he could of the beer, “fine, I'm done, let's get this over with.”


	14. Chapter 14

Dean felt the relief of being home the second he walked through the door. Sam wasn't looking at him, but he didn't seem mad anymore either. He was thinking about something seriously though, and that was enough to have Dean's nerves on edge.

“Where were you?” Dean asked, if nothing else to break the silence, he had to know.

“Talking to people, getting memories that weren't just yours,” he shrugged, “moved around a lot.”

“It's been months Sam, You couldn't let me know you were okay?”

“You knew I was okay.” Sam said, “Cas told you I was fine.”

Dean nodded, “yeah, well hearing it from Cas really wasn't good enough, I needed to see you for myself.”

“It's best that you didn't.” Sam said he shifted nervously and Dean felt alarm bells going off.

“What happened?”

“Enough,” Sam said, and sat down, “There's still some stuff missing, but I think I've got most of it back.” He said, looking down at the table. He swallowed, Dean saw the wheels spinning in his mind, “I'm sorry, for what I made you do.” Sam said at last, “sorry for what I started.”

“You didn't make me do anything,” Dean said, trying to think of anything that Sam had ever made him do, other than some really bad decisions that were because of Dean, Sam didn't really tell him what to do. He never really had come to think of it.

“Dean, come on,” Sam whispered, “You think I would have been with you like that, if I knew what it meant, knew what it would mean to other people, what it would mean to you?”

“You didn't care Sam, hell I didn't care.” Dean wondered how Sam had found out that it was wrong, wondered who Sam had let it slip to that they'd been sleeping together. The thought of having to face anyone not knowing if they knew or not was unsettling, one crisis at a time though. “I still don't care,” Dean amended. “I'll be whatever you want me to be, just stay with me.”

“Dean....”

“No, I'm serious, top, bottom, brother, lover,” he blushed, then forced himself to joke, “hell you want me to put on a skirt and call you professor, I'm in. I don't care, anything you want, but if you leave again, you're taking me with you. I can't function without you.”

“You're my brother,” Sam said softly, intentionally not meeting Dean's eyes, making it harder for him to read the expression there.

“Yeah,” Dean said trying to figure out where he was going with it, if he was saying it rhetorically or if there was some point he was driving toward. “I'm good with that, if that's all you want from me, then I can be just that.”

Sam nodded, thinking again, without speaking, “I..” He swallowed, then tried again, “I loved you,” he said at last, “i really did, I would have spent the rest of our eternity with you, happy to be nothing more or less than your lover, I would have been happy the rest of my existence If I thought that I would have ever been enough to make you happy, as your soulmate. You weren't happy Dean, you've never been happy without your brother.”

“What are you getting at Sam?” Dean asked, half afraid of whatever would come next.

“If I have to choose, I need you to be my brother again,” He said it like the words pained him, “if that's a choice that I have to make, then that's what I choose.” His eyes finally met Deans, pinning him to the spot with the intensity of the look there. “but I don't want to have to choose.”

Dean knew that he should take the offered out, knew it was the last chance they would ever have to back out. To take back what had passed between them. He had screwed up so many times, and so many ways, he knew that if he kept going he'd only screw it up again, and maybe next time Sam wouldn't be able to forgive him.

“Dean?” Sam said his name softly, like he was terrified of how he was going to answer.

Dean moved closer, his fingertips brushing against the back of his neck, he leaned close enough to whisper, “Can I kiss you Sammy?” against his ear. He hesitated, afraid of how Sam would react.

“It's Sam,” He said his eyes on Dean's parted lips. There was a smile though, curling his lips slightly.

“Not to me.” Dean argued, his hand coming up between them to push Sam's hair out of his face, “you've always been Sammy to me.” Dean's breath was cut off by Sam's lips pressed soft against his own.

Sam pulled away just far enough to ask, “what do you want me to be?”

Dean smiled, “Don't be stupid, you're my baby brother.” He kissed him again, “you're my soulmate,” His hands tangled in the soft hair, “and if it's okay with you, I really would like to have sex with you now. It's been way too long.”

Sam nodded, then kissed along Dean's jaw, murmuring something that Dean took for approval. “'s sick Dean.” Sam said, his hand already working toward Dean's jeans.

“I know.” Dean agreed, “I know, you'll always be my brother, but we're so much more than that.”

“no, not that part,” Sam said, “I like that part.” before Dean could figure out what he was calling sick Sam backed him onto the table and was standing between his legs, “Can't believe you have a school kink, can't wait to see you in a skirt though.”

Dean tried not to let the hopefulness he was feeling show. “Are we okay?” He asked finally, breaking away from Sam's lips long enough to force the words out.

“We'll get there.” Sam said his hands roaming up Dean's back, his lips found Dean's neck, teeth bit into it.

“I'm sorry about what I said before, what I did. I just didn't know how to handle it.” Dean said, the words falling so much easier with Sam's mouth and hand's occupied with their exploration of Dean's skin.

“You keep apologizing, I might start believing you mean it,” Sam said, smiling, “we both know better.”

“I do mean it,” Dean said, “when you left, I thought I was going to lose my mind. I can't stand being away from you for any reason.”

Sam didn't tell him it was okay, instead Dean found himself urged toward his bedroom, caught on some tidal wave of want, and need, and relief that Sam was back, and he was going to stay, and it seemed like he really was himself. It was almost too good to be true. Dean dreaded finding out that it wasn't real, that sam was fucking with him, that something else was going to happen to take this from him.

“Dean,” Sam whispered his name, “You still with me?”

“Yeah, just thinking,” Dean answered automatically, “You and me little brother that's all that matters. All that's ever mattered is that were together forever.”

Sam smiled, his teeth nipping into the sore spot on Dean's neck again. Dean shifted his weight rolling to pin Sam underneath him, determined not to let him up until Sam was screaming his name.


End file.
